Loki's Little Mischief
by the-bonny-wordsmith
Summary: My version of the Norse Mythology behind Loki and Sigyn's relationship, incorporating the psychology and appearance of movie Marvel!Loki, with my own OC, Káta, with a little Greek Mythology thrown in the mix just for good measure. The first of a couple of re-written sections of Norse Mythology known as 'The Lost Tales of Loki Laufeyson'.
1. Prologue

_~Prologue~_

_ There is an untold tale in Norse mythology of the unknown romance of Loki – the God of Mischief. It is a common misconception that Loki desired and married a nymph that Odin made a Goddess, named Sigyn, and that he later attempted to leave her, although she remained loyal to him until the end, and attempted to relieve his suffering from the poison of the snake the Goddess Skaði set over him before Ragnarök as he lay bound by their son Narfi's guts to three snaptun stones._

_Only two pieces of this information are correct. That Loki loved a nymph, and that another nymph by the name of Sigyn was involved, although whether she is real or not is contested._

_It was a love that belonged to myths and legends, and yet never made it to any of the history books. A love that changed both of their lives forever more. A love whose strength bound them together until beyond the veil, and transcended all lives. A love Loki never knew himself to be capable of. A love with a nymph called Káta._

* * *

_There are two schools of thought to this story; two separate tales that tell the fate of Loki and his lover._

_One is that Loki fell in love with, and wooed the nymph Káta, and that she in turn fell in love with him. With the aid of the Goddess Lofn they persuaded Odin to marry them. However, the Gods were not pleased with this outcome, for in his quest to win over Káta's heart, Loki showed himself to be of a more steadfast and honourable nature than his role as the God of Mischief allowed. So the two were united on the condition that the mortals of Midgard knew nothing of the marriage, for the Gods required Loki's image as a dishonourable trickster to remain intact for the Midgardians to believe in, and rather the fabrication of Sigyn was related to them. To this Loki and Káta acquiesced. Loki in particular was pleased with the outcome for it gave him some little leverage over the other Gods and Goddesses in other matters untold here, and the two were married to their great and everlasting happiness._

_The other tale is that while Loki truly loved and was successful in his pursuit of the nymph Káta, their love was kept secret from the other Gods and Goddesses, save Var and Lofn. However, unbeknownst to anyone but Odin and Frigg, Loki had been arranged to marry the nymph Sigyn in an attempt to calm his antics. When the lovers discovered this they bound themselves to each other with oaths that united their spirits, though they could never be together in life. Káta insisted that Loki fulfil his duty to Sigyn in marrying her and upholding his word, despite the fact that it had been Odin and Frigg that had pledged him on his unwitting behalf. Thus, Loki married Sigyn, and did his duty by her, although his heart was forever in Káta's keeping, and hers in his. Following the marriage, Káta is said to have changed her name to Eilíf, meaning 'always alone in life', and became the spirit of a well. It is said by some that when Loki heard of this he would spend hours gazing into the water and would see Káta's reflection smiling back at him._

_This is the first tale._


	2. Ch 1: Troubles and Troublesome

_~Chapter One~ Troubles and Troublesome_

Frigg sat in one of her morning chambers within her hall, Fensalir, in Valhalla. It was only late morning and the weather was as golden as she could wish for. The entire room was glowing, for the as the sun's rays came in they were reflected off and against the intricate and elaborate gold gilt designs carved into the wood and stone walls and pillars of the room. Frigg herself appeared on fire. The sunlight caught on the gold embroidery that scattered her usual simple flowing white dress, and the ruby encrusted gold collar necklace and belt she wore flashed. Her customary purple cloak, attached at the shoulders with a pair of delicately wrought silver brooches, was draped elegantly over her chair, pooling at her feet.

The high-backed chair she sat on was one of her simpler ones, being as it was only solid oak and elaborately carved, the seat and arms draped with furs, and about her, on stools, sat her three closest attendants; Hlín, Fulla and Gná.

"Gná; find the musicians – I find myself desirous of a pretty melody." Frigg bade a red-headed goddess whose dress hems bore embroidered winged horses. Obediently Gná stood and left, returning with a quartet bearing a flute, a set of panpipes, a harp and a pair of fiddles. Gná made to close the great double doors, but Frigg raised a hand. "Leave them open; they shall be disturbed shortly in any case."

As the musicians struck up a lilting background humming, Frigg took up her jewel inlaid magical distaff, spinning the threads of fate from it. "Do you feel a call, my lady?" Enquired Fulla, a goddess whose dark curls were captured in a golden snood, preparing the spindle of the distaff for use. Frigg nodded.

"A Midgardian woman praying for help in her labour." She replied. "Hlín go and sit with her." The third goddess nodded and in a single twist, was gone, leaving behind her only the quickly fading imprint of the colours of the Bifrost. For a moment there was silence as Frigg's slim fingers worked the distaff and picked delicately between the threads. Eventually she subsided with a sigh and a smile. Hlín reappeared moments later in another shimmer of Bifrost particles, and resumed her seat.

"An easy and successful birth, my lady," Hlín said, "I was with her only three hours. She offers her thanks for your aid." Frigg smiled.

She had not been back at her work for ten minutes before the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor into which the room opened came to their ears. Frigg did not look up, however, continuing to pick and the threads of destiny.

Two young gods, one enormous and blonde with fire in his blue eyes and the other slim with raven hair and an impish twinkle in his green eyes, strode in at the open doors and halted before Frigg and her handmaidens.

"What have you done this time?" Frigg asked, not even glancing up from her work as her two sons marched in. The two young gods stood before their mother, inured to her foresight, Thor full of fury and hurt pride, and Loki exuding an air of blamelessness. Of the attendants only Hlín sat up and paid attention to the conversation that was about to ensue in case she was to be called upon, whilst Fulla continued to see to the distaff, her ears open, and Gná batted her lashes at Thor, barely registering the presence of his brother.

It was a common opinion amongst the female members of Asgard that, aside from his brother Baldr, Thor was the most desirable of the Gods – strong, handsome, highly favoured by his father Odin, and foremost in strength and ability –, and had the tempting addition of being as yet without a wife (an attribute that Baldr was without, but did little to stifle all advances). Thor's eyes lingered on his mother's flirting attendant until a severe cough from Frigg put an abrupt and abashed end to Gná's coquetry.

Loki rolled his eyes.

This was always the way when Thor was around females. It was not that he himself felt slighted, or even at all desired feminine company, but Loki found their unstinting obsession with his brother a constant source of irritation. Especially as all Thor had to recommend himself was an overabundance of muscle and his father's adoration; his manners were barely equal to half of Baldr's and his wit was far outstripped by Loki's. If it weren't for their brother Baldr then, quite apart from being the most favoured God in Asgard, Thor would also be the most loved. The very thought made him feel ill. As it was the fact that Thor's neck could support his head was a source of constant wonder for Loki, and the idea of it getting any bigger was monstrous.

At the prolonged silence from her sons, Frigg finally looked up from her work. The two young men did not even appear to be in the same room as her. Thor was still blatantly watching the blushing Gná with a vaguely idiotic grin on his face, whilst Loki's youthful face seemed weighed down with some bitter preoccupation that turned up the corners of his mouth in an unpleasant way.

Frigg clapped her hands sharply, the many gold and beaded bracelets on her wrists jangling against one another, and the young Gods returned their attention to their mother who now stood, asserting her natural imperiousness and majesty over the room and its occupants once more.

"Leave us," she said, dismissing her maids and the quartet with a wave of her hand. As the three goddesses and the musicians quitted the room Frigg faced her sons with a frown. "What happened this time, then?" She asked. The shade of a roguish smile returned to Loki's face, his entire demeanour lightening, whilst Thor's face darkened slightly and for a moment the room was plunged into shadow as a great storm front rolled over and blocked out the sun. Frigg ignored the temporary change in the weather, and kept her piercing eyes on Thor.

"First he stole the boars Gullinbursti and Hildisvíni from Freyr and Freyja. Then he left them in my hall, where they proceeded to cause such havoc and mayhem that many thought Ragnarök had come upon us, though Heimdallr gave us no word of warning. By the time we had discovered and caught them not one of my rooms was not overturned or in some state of disorder; not one in five hundred and forty rooms!" Thor thundered, the room darkening once more. Loki restrained a snicker at the memory of the two boars rushing through his brother's hall, scattering squealing goddesses, and upsetting the furniture. He had watched the entire spectacle invisible from the rafters after goading the boars with some judicious nips to their flanks while in the form of a flea. Frigg turned a gimlet eye upon him as sunlight filled the room once again.

"Well, my son? What is your explanation this time?" Loki gazed at her evenly.

"_Explanation?_ You ask an explanation of him?" Bellowed Thor, there was a low rumble of thunder beyond the windows and the merest flicker of lightning. Frigg, however, gave her elder son a stern look, and the weather returned to his original clemency. Thor, although chastened by his mother, was determined continue, however. "There is no explanation! We all know it is merely because he delights in such trickery and chaos!" Thor rounded on his brother, a vein pulsing in his temple, his face red. Loki stared coolly back into his brother's furious eyes, his own cold but perfectly calm.

"I was merely trying to aid you, brother." He said, his voice perfectly sincere.

"You –! …what?" Thor began to launch into a second tirade but was brought up short by his brother's reply.

"You said that your goat Tanngrisnir was lame only yesterday afternoon; it would not be fair upon Tanngnjóstr to ask him to pull your chariot alone." Loki gave his brother such a convincing look of injured mistreatment that Thor felt a twinge of shame, though he had done nothing to warrant it. "So I set out to borrow Freyr and Freyja's boars this morning that you might not be inconvenienced by any delay. I know both beasts to be of a manageable disposition and so brought them to your hall Bilskirnir, not expecting them to become so wild." Thor gazed into his brother's injured expression and felt his resolve softening. Frigg, however, was well used to Loki's ploys, and held her determination with a firmer grasp than Thor.

"And what made them become so wild, my son?" She asked, the merest hint of curiosity in her voice. Loki turned his soulful gaze upon her.

"I know not. Although," he turned back to Thor, "when I entered your hall I did notice something by way of some gnats in the air. Indeed, I was quite bothered by them, and so quitted your rooms swiftly, brother, and in my haste I forgot that I had not explained the presence of the boars to you, nor was I there to see them become so uncontrolled. I expect that the gnats must have tormented the poor beasts to beyond reason, and so resulted in their rampage. You must believe me that it was never my intention to create such destruction." Thor gazed into his brother's earnest face for a moment then smiled, genially clapping him on the back with enough force to raze a small house and seizing the collar of Loki's shirt to prevent him from flying across the room and into the wall.

"I see your honesty, and kind intentions, brother. Come; let us speak no more of it. Damaged furniture can easily be put to rights. Why! It is the perfect excuse to have everything re-crafted in a finer and better manner than they were before! And frightened feelings and anger are easily washed away with mead."

As Thor spun Loki around to face the doors once more Frigg watched with narrowed eyes, her expression shrewd. As was so often the case she was not sure whether she was able to entirely believe Loki. Consummate liar and trickster that he was, she could not help but wish to believe the tales he always told, hoping that at least some small part of them was the truth.

As the brothers quitted Fensalir, Frigg was not left to her musings long, for she was soon met with the appalled countenances of Freyr and Freyja, simultaneously asking questions and apologising for their beasts. She sighed and began her sons' explanations.

~O~

Káta tucked the book she was reading under the arch of her legs and gazed out of her bedroom window, arms wrapped around her peaked knees. Her room was on the ninth and final floor of the nymph's hall, Maersalr, and her seat on the wide sun-drenched stone sill of its arched window afforded her a sweeping view of the nymph's pavilion and the gardens and ponds that surrounded it. A cooling breeze blew the gauze of the curtains inwards and brushed her sun bronzed chestnut curls back over her shoulders, filling the fine linen of her dress so that it billowed about her ankles and into the room. She peered down at a brightly clad group of her laughing fellows, her golden eyes narrowed, all of whom were fawning over a couple of gods whom she thought to be Kvasir and Ullr. She sighed, wrinkling her nose slightly. Kvasir was probably one of the smarmiest gods she had ever come across, even if he was the god of inspiration. She couldn't dispute his evident intelligence, but his constant declarations that he came down to Maersalr merely because several of the nymphs were his muses, and the squabbles that these incited amongst the nymphs, were tiresome in the extreme – as well as easy to see through.

Ullr she could deal with, although he was always full of lengthy tales regarding the finer points of skiing and archery, in which he often reminded them he was unparalleled. For his fair face and manly stature, the nymphs favoured him with an equal degree of adoration to Kvasir, and it could not be argued that he was not both honourable and noble, and certainly chivalrous. More than one enterprising nymph had 'accidentally' tripped and twisted an ankle in his presence, pretending not to know he was there, just to have him rush to their aid and carry them back to the pavilion, revelling in the strength of his arms and the impressive firmness of his chest. Indeed, some had attempted to distinguish themselves in their creativity, going so far as to 'fall' into one of the lakes and pathetically flounder about, maintaining that they could not swim, and call for help, so that he would fearlessly dive in to rescue them and carry them to the bank, their arms wrapped about his strong neck, and pressing close against his streaming linen clad body. Káta had watched these performances with a mixture of amusement, distaste and pity, occasionally taking it upon herself to rescue the unfortunate god from consecutive incidents, to the impotent fury of the foiled nymphs that her actions passed over.

When Káta had first come to live in Maersalr many gods, including Kvasir and Ullr, had turned their attentions upon her – to the great displeasure and unrestrained jealousy of the other nymphs – for she was not only a new commodity, but also a physical oddity amongst her fellows, who were all gracefully tall and slim, their appendages willowy. Káta, however, was short in comparison to her peers, and her figure boasted curves that were a rare (and so belittled) quality amongst the nymphs. In stature she was not, in fact, short; being taller than the average goddess, however the difference of a few inches made her shorter than almost every nymph, and as a result the demeaning label of "little Káta" was assigned her very early in her association with the nymphs of Maersalr, most of whom had a predilection for pettiness and were as shallow in their tastes as they were in their personalities.

Vanity also carved a very wide streak through the personalities of all, save a very select few, and large mirrors and dressing tables were a prominent feature in every single room. Every morning was spent in frivolously serious deliberation before their mirrors as each strove to outdo the others in her garments and the arrangement of her hair. In this, too, Káta was a disparaged peculiarity, for she cared little for the opinions of her fellow nymphs and their rivalries, choosing instead whatever dress most appealed to her (given her temperament for the day), the state of her hair reflecting the level of patience she had felt for the task at the time. This would not have been an issue amongst the other nymphs, in fact they would have welcomed Káta's lack of endeavour to compete in beauty, had it not been for the fact that, regardless of Káta's carelessness and freedom in selecting her dress and constructing her appearance, she had a freshness of beauty that few could claim or create – the existence of which she was entirely ignorant of –, and which far outstripped the adopted charms of the other nymphs. However, for all that Káta was equipped with the tools to make her the centre of all the gods' attentions, she often found their constant devotions tiresome, as all they desired of her were the simple affections the others provided; simpering blushes, oblivious adoration, pretty conversation and a ready laugh.

Upon discovering Káta's uncommonly faceted personality, the gods soon returned to the excessive admiration and frolicking games that the other nymphs provided without stint or measure, preferring to bask in the single mindedness of their attentions and the simplicity of their conversation than exchange a flurrying repartee (that was almost always devoid of the blind idolatry they had come to expect as a norm from nymphs) with Káta. Amongst the nymphs Káta was of a more unusual disposition, beside her appearance. Spurred on by the approval of the goddess Sjöfn, the other nymphs delighted in teasing the gods that came to see them, blatantly flirting to an outrageous extent, and many had had cause to call upon Frigg as they birthed claimed and unclaimed children. It was not that Káta disapproved of their exploits, indeed she had her own well honed skill set of charms and wiles, and was as accomplished a seductress as any of them; rather it was a matter of interest. Káta found little pleasure in the silliness that the other nymphs seemed to inhabit as a permanent mind-set, especially as it appeared to be their main tactic of allurement. Merely walking past the open doors of their rooms and catching snippets of their conversation as they waxed lyrical over one or other of the god's apparent qualities, or boasted of their most recent lover, or fed off each other's energy until they were in an unintelligible frenzy of idolatry, or (most often) plotted new tricks of allurement made her feel nauseous; hers was a more cunning turn of mind. Káta enjoyed a good trick as much as any of them, but her trickery involved more wit than charming an unsuspecting man – Asgardian or Midgardian – into her bed. Indeed, her trickery often extended beyond the other nymph's romantic parameters to the creation of general amusement for herself, and she had often indulged in some minor pranks on the other nymphs to their great displeasure.

With a sigh, Káta abandoned her book and the warmth of her window sill, wishing, not for the first time, that her mother hadn't insisted upon her spending some time with other nymphs.


	3. Ch 2: A Rapid Descent

_~Chapter Two~__ A Rapid Descent_

Loki trudged along the wide alabaster paved path, his expression sour and brooding, not taking in the beautifully manicured gardens he passed. It had taken him a good twenty minutes before he had managed to escape Thor's clutches, and the entire time he had endured an endless torrent of his brother's plans for the refurbishment of his hall, his face set in a rictus of petulantly attempted sincerity. Loki's poorly concealed surliness had been lost on Thor, however, immersed as he was in his grand plans. Loki kicked angrily at a stray tussock of grass growing between two stones; trust Thor to turn the destruction the boars had wreaked to his own advantage. To re-furnish his hall with more elaborate articles than before, order finer hangings for the walls and new furs for the floors; he would probably even request the sons of Ivaldi to forge special decorative shields and weapons to adorn his already laden walls.

Loki snorted, shaking his head as he put on a little burst of speed to jog lightly up the great curved stone steps up to the bronze inlaid doors of the great library of Asgard, with which he was well familiar, his feet scuffing dryly against the smooth stone. It was one of his sanctuaries, and could almost always be relied upon to guarantee him shelter from whatever or whoever he wished to leave behind. As far as he knew Thor had never even set foot in the library since their briefly enforced instruction there as children, let alone thought to seek him out there, and Loki wondered idly whether Thor even remembered that it existed; he had high (and not entirely unfounded) hopes that he didn't. Regardless, the library was where Loki often retreated to when in need of a quiet think, or a place to hole up in, away from the brash boisterous attention of his brother and, more importantly, the condescending and ill-masked discontent of their father. Indeed, when life troubled him most, Loki would withdraw to the library and immerse himself in the reality obliterating balm of other's thoughts and tales, calming himself with the temporary respite of shedding all his cares to become someone new in a microcosm where demoralising disappointments and fiascos didn't happen with such regularity. It was from these tales that he took comfort and hope, although such fragile flickers of emotions were all too easily dashed apart on the rocks of Odin's unforgiving disapproval, and in them that he found solace with other lost souls whose endings had eventually come right – regardless of their fictional or biographical states.

Loki sighed as he made his way to the distant corner that he had claimed as his own and that had become his constant haunt. It was a comfortable little nook that he had found on his first foray into the library when he was a great deal younger, situated in a tucked away bulge of the immense building. It was one of the smaller reading alcoves that were set into the walls at intervals, and had a round table with a couple of high-backed chairs adorned with plump cushions, and a large glassed window that filled it with light and warmth on sunny days.

Once there, Loki threw himself into his preferred chair, his posture sagging until he was slumped with his chin resting on his chest, not even bothering to summon a book from the shelves. In the short walk from the entrance to his alcove his thoughts had followed a progressively deepening downward spiral until he no longer thought solely of his frustrated plans of the day, but of the futility of all his efforts when he was measured against Thor. Uncountable past failures rose up to swamp him with an unceasing barrage of disappointment and inadequacy, wrapping him in their cold embrace and dragging him further and further down to the deeper, darker recesses of his soul. He was never going to win; never to triumph – he wasn't _fated_ to do so. Thor _was_. Thor was destined to do great things; their father regularly pronounced it – and who was to know better than him? He had drunk from the well of Urd; he was King of the Gods; the Allfather! Loki wasn't destined for greatness and acclaim. Even in the smallest of matters such as this trick – he was doomed to failure. He wasn't even spared in that either. He wasn't allowed a quiet failure; it was always the big events that exploded in his face in a spectacular catastrophe that invariably led to Odin telling him he was a dishonour, not only to their family and himself, but to all the gods; Æsir and Vanir alike. Apathy lay upon Loki in a thick depressing sheet. Reading was beyond him – even as an escape from the emotions that were plaguing him; he could not bring himself to do anything except be – and at that moment even _that_ feel like a tall order.

As he sat, a pall of gloom settling over him like a raincloud and a venomous melancholia seeping out from him to fill the alcove until it felt much darker and colder than it was, an old god, weighed down by his woollen clothes, came shuffling along, his face split in a gummy beam. Loki's eyes barely flickered to him as he came up and sat with a happy sigh in the chair opposite. It was Fróði, the learned keeper god, and head librarian.

"Well now, young Loki, and what has you in such a mood that you look like you've been deboned?" He enquired after pushing around in a pocket and producing a pair of slightly fluffy fake teeth carved from ivory that he inserted into his grinning mouth.

Loki twisted his mouth slightly, and looked to one side, his nostrils flaring, determinedly remaining slumped – refusing to be drawn out from his fuming lethargy even by the diverting spectacle of Fróði sputtering and wiping his tongue for pocket fluff.

"Ah, I see." Croaked Fróði, his voice witteringly happy, and yet full of sympathetic understanding. "It's your brother, isn't it?" He said, shrewdly, his rheumy eyes suddenly sharp and bright. Loki sighed a long drawn out breath, closing his eyes for a long time as though just the action of breathing was a fierce effort. Finally he nodded curtly. "Mmm." Fróði's voice was canny, his eyes keen. "So what's he been up to, then?"

There was a long silence, broken eventually by Fróði leaning forwards at the prince's lack of responsiveness and giving him a prod in the ribs. Loki spasmed upwards in his chair like an eel out of water, his face twisting into a reluctant grin and looking a great deal younger and more carefree for a few precious moments. However, the instant he escaped Fróði's reach, his face became sullen and burdened once more.

"Fine." He ground out, his teeth clenched, his hands grasping the arms of his chair with such force that his already pale knuckles gleamed white like sun-bleached bones, and the wood creaked in protest. Fróði clucked with vague amusement at his success, while Loki straightened his posture and tugged at his clothes, his eyes preoccupied. "It's…not so much something that he's _done_," he finally began with great difficulty, "it's more that…he – I mean, _I_ – oh! I don't know!" Loki flung himself backwards in his chair once more with alarming violence, frowning heavily, his mouth set in a grim line, and his hands grasping his skull with such force that the tendons stood out.

Fróði watched in solemn silence whilst Loki calmed once more, whose hands slipped to his lap as he resumed figuring out the train of thought that he had attempted to relate. Eventually, the head librarian's patience was rewarded with the young god unfolding his taut frame and leaning forwards, one long fingered pale palm outstretched in an unconscious plea.

"Why is it that everything – _everything_ – always works out for him, Afi?" He asked, his green eyes for once free of all barriers and as confused and helplessly pleading as a child's. Fróði pursed his withered lips thoughtfully; encouraged by Loki's use of the epithet he usually called him by when happy and comfortable. Loki, however, continued on, the words rushing out of his mouth in a tumbling torrent, the banks of restraint and protection that had kept them back broken. "He's always favoured by our father, he's favoured by practically every single god or goddess in this whole dammed city, he can do everything, he never puts a foot wrong – huh – unlike _me_." Loki spat the words out venomously, and for a moment a streak of pain and disgust flittered across his face. Fróði winced slightly at the bitterness of the expression so inappropriate on one as young as Loki's face, and yet it was an expression that he had often there; most often after a confrontation with Odin. Furthermore, whilst Fróði knew the disgust to be directed at Odin and Thor, the full brunt of it was centred on Loki himself. Years of mistreatment and falling short of Odin's standards had led to a bitter self-loathing that, try as he might, Fróði had yet to alleviate. Loki's thoughts too seemed to have been derailed onto the tangent of his father, and the lack of approval he gained from him. "There's nothing I can do in father's eyes that he will ever accept! Anything I do is compared to Thor, and what I _have_ achieved is somehow found to be wanting! Even when I've put my all into it! Even when I have exhausted every single resource available to me, and Thor has just done whatever he felt like – I _always_ fail! _It's always my fault!_ I've never put in enough effort! And Thor's always rewarded! He's always praised! Even his halls are the most extravagant of all the halls in Valhalla; father's said so a thousand times!" Loki's face was scrunched up with resentment and jealousy laced his words. "And even when one of my tricks seems to go to plan, Thor always manages to recover quickly from it and end up in an even better position than before! Why?! Why does nothing I do – nothing I try – _ever_ go right for me?! _Never?!_" Loki gazed at the head librarian, the only confidant he had in the entire city, his un-guarded eyes vulnerable and questioning – clear green windows into his bleak miserable soul.

Fróði sighed, carefully considering his reply; Loki was rarely so open in discussing his problems, most often remaining stuck in unhealthy brooding silences for several weeks before shrouding the matters that plagued his innermost thoughts in a cover of mischievousness and trickery. When conversations between them became this open, Fróði knew he had to tread as carefully at lightly as possible across the fractured skin that was the young god's trust and mental state; all previous ones had ended up in furious denial or brow-beating frustration with Loki storming out. Loki's troubles with his brother and father, and everything he did in his life were so interlinked and entwined that to talk of one issue was always to drag along a whole host of others to follow on the heels of any discussion. What made matters more difficult was that Odin's unstinting dislike of Loki was rooted in a secret that had been kept from Loki for so many years that most had forgotten it.

"King of the Gods, Odin may be, Loki, but that does not mean he is without flaws and prejudices." Fróði paused ostensibly to take a breath, but really to give himself a few more moments to pick his way through the gauntlet of eggshells that lay before him. "What he deems worthy is not all that _can_ be worthy. He doesn't value you because he doesn't _know_ you; he does not see your worth, because your worth is in areas beyond his ken. Thor is less complex than you; he is like his father – they are both quick to anger, and Thor, like Odin in his youth, is arrogant. Odin does not understand you because you are cast in a different mould to him. He makes no effort to understand you, because it is easier not to – to simply decide for himself what he thinks you are and judge you from that; he does not _want_ you to be more than he deems you to be. It is not right and it is not just, nor fair to you, but that is how things are." The old god leant forwards and tapped Loki over his heart, the young god's desolate eyes following the movement. "But trials make you stronger, if only you can look at them in the right way; your heart beats with a firmer will. And remember that while Thor is given everything without effort, you have had to struggle and fight. It makes you stronger in a way different to Thor's muscle. Brawn is not always the key to everything, and your brother still has much to learn. Even if you don't appear to get any results, never forget that everything you have been through has benefitted you in some way – even if it is unseen and unknown, the change is still there, and one day you will know it." Loki's unimpressed po-faced expression told Fróði everything he already knew, and he could already see the young god's barriers re-erecting themselves in his clear green eyes. "No one is perfect, you know." Fróði said gently. Loki snorted and stared down at his long fingers which were drawn into fists.

"Thor is." He muttered. Fróði frowned.

"Look at me, Loki." Fróði leant forwards, determined that if nothing else, the troubled young god would take this message to heart at least, and there was something in his tone that forced Loki to lift his head and eyes. "You are much more than your father has ever thought you to be, or ever wished you to be. What he thinks of you does _not_ define you; we are to be what we wish to be, if only we have the strength to do so." The old god remained staring into Loki's eyes for a few moments until finally the prince blinked and broke the contact. His eyes had clouded over with anger once more, and with its return, his fury had obliterated his earlier openness. He gave a non-committal sigh that was clearly a dismissal. Fróði nodded, half to himself, half to Loki, got up and shuffled away, encouraged to think that Loki might at least have listened to him for once by the lack of a disagreeing outburst. Past experience told him that it was useless to try to talk the young prince around when he had such a forbidding expression in his eyes.

* * *

In the coming days and weeks, Loki's depression remained about him like an odourless miasma. It filled the space about him, and his prolonged presence in a room with others would gradually lead to it affecting the mood of all those present, though he never spoke a word, remaining in a sullen silence – his eyes at once wounded and burning with anger, and very occasionally the faintest glimmer of well hidden confusion. He refused to speak or answer any question put to him, instead falling into a resentful silence, his jaundiced eyes clouded over and brooding. All attempts at conversation with him were met with a blank hateful glare that soon stopped even the most insistent of souls, and if he did reply it was only to utter cruel rejoinders that always hit their intended mark with stunning accuracy.

It was not until he managed to reduce eight minor goddesses to anguished tears in a matter of minutes that Frigg took the matter in hand with a serious consideration. Loki being churlish was nothing to be surprised at, in fact it was to be expected – he was often rude and could be spiteful and vindictive when the mood took him, it was just how he was, and he regularly fell into short periods of sourness –, but he had never before exuded such unbridled and indiscriminate hate with such constancy. It did not matter who it was that came across his path, all were subjected to the full force of his ill-temper, and felt the harsh stinging lash of his tongue. Furthermore, as part of his nature as the god of lies and trickery he was well aware of the soft spots that each individual had, and sometimes hid, and was ruthless in his exploitation of them, fashioning each insult or jibe with its own particular sting to cut deepest where it hurt most, and cause the utmost pain or distress.

Odin was kept carefully in the dark of Loki's newfound and inexplicable unpleasantness, for Frigg knew that a confrontation with his father when in such a state would lead only to a worsening of Loki's behaviour, and the speaking of many things that would have been better left forgotten or unsaid and unmeant. Frigg had a strong understanding that words, once said, could never be taken back – no matter how genuinely they wished to be rescinded – and that words and thoughts said and made in anger were worse still and did the most damage, even if their only intent had been to temporarily hurt.

Once Loki caught wind that his mother was involving herself in the matter, he took judicious steps to remove himself from the strongest areas of her influence, and avoided her at all costs. He had no intention to give any account for his behaviour, and did not want her questions, kindness, or involvement in the matter; it was not as if she would understand it or how he was feeling in any case. His absence at meals was noted by all those that had had to sit closest to him with a distinct relief, for they were all tired of occasionally glancing up to find his haunted eyes burning into theirs, radiating malevolence, and being constantly on edge, waiting for the inevitable put-down that he so exquisitely timed – never quite enough for them to engage him in an argument, but often stretching their nerves to breaking point. They could deal with his tricks well enough, in fact there were times when they were quite amusing and the trickster god could be pleasant to be around, but this was completely different. His disappearances in this could not be hidden from Odin, but the king of the gods was unconcerned at his younger son's absence from table having always considered him peculiar in his ways, and pleased to be rid of the sight of him – for meals were the one time that he could not imagine and wish away physical reminders of Loki.

As a result, Loki found himself spending his entire day either in the library – lounging in his chair with such apathy that had Fróði not known better, he would have taken the young god to be one of those that had lost control over their body –, or tucked away in the most obscure of places – up long disused towers, scaling walls to sit in sheltered corners of the roofs of the various halls of Valhalla, or resting in the shadows of the peaked ceilings of unused rooms, his long slim frame draped along the great beams that formed the rafters as he stared up at nothing with blank soulful eyes, struggling with the conflicting inner turmoil that burned in his soul. Fróði had been right in his assumption that Loki had taken his words to heart, even if he hadn't initially given any indication of it, thinking hard on the matter and turning it over and over in his mind. The resulting discord of his intense brooding had escalated to such a point that he was at war within himself, his mind consumed by the matter, and he was making himself ill; torturing himself from the inside out. His already spare frame became emaciated – for he did not bother to catch up on those meals that he missed –, his face a gaunt skull, his skin dry and taut and loose in all the wrong places, with angry eyes that burned with a worrying feverish brightness, deeply set in darkly shadowed sockets, gazing out through lank brittle hair. His clothes hung off his shrunken frame poorly, and his muscles lost their tone like a horse stabled too long and were eaten up as his body attempted to protect itself against the enforced starvation; his very fingers were no more than bones encased in skin. Those that knew him would not have recognised him, but for his colours, and those that _did_ see him were at once horrified and fearful when they did recognise the walking skeleton that glanced fleetingly at them before melting quickly away.

At least part of everyday would be spent in his alcove of the library, reading only if he could muster the energy to (which was not very often), generally just sitting in his chair. Every day, Fróði, with his uncanny knack for knowing when the prince was about, would appear, shuffling along with a gummy smile. Sometimes he would say nothing, and merely sit and keep the preoccupied young god company in as companionable silence as was possible with Loki radiating discontent, and other times he would chatter away about various scraps of gossip or information that popped into his head, not expecting any reply, refusing to be doused by the prince's dull spirits. For all his lively banter, however, Fróði watched the young prince's decline with anxious eyes. Each day more of the flesh seemed to have been stripped away from Loki's body, and his skin hung in dark bags beneath his eyes from countless sleepless nights. Fróði had never seen him in such a condition, and he did not want to think just how long the prince could continue in such a manner, god or not – there were some things that all bodies required, mortal and immortal, and they couldn't last long without them.

They did not revisit the root of Loki's problems again. Fróði knew that it was something that Loki was working at coming to terms with, attempting to adjust his thoughts and feelings, and failing to successfully do so several times a day – as evidenced by either a sharp hurtful remark to the understanding head librarian, or by his stormy departure from the library (which more than once drew scandalised glares from Fróði's wife Berghildr– a termagant woman that all feared with just reason – although Berghildr's heart was not really in it, for she was just as concerned about Loki as her husband). Fróði bore Loki's insults with a calm equanimity, understanding the impotent fuel of frustration that fired them, and also too that they were made with no real sincerity, but more as a venting of his anger.

Loki was a good deal more grateful for Fróði's presence than he would have ever put into words. It was a blessing to know that there was at least one other beyond himself that knew and, though Loki did not know this, understood much better than Loki himself understood, what he was feeling. Fróði's reliability, too, was something that he depended upon heavily; to be able to arrive in the library and wait only a few moments before he appeared was one of the few stable things Loki could cling to, and he clung to it with the ferocity of a drowning man. Fróði's constancy was rock firm, and knowing that he would always be there gave Loki comfort in his darker moments, and provided a welcome reprieve that helped him resurface when feelings of his own overwhelming inadequacy threatened to swamp him. Loki also found that he trusted Fróði, implicitly; for Fróði had never broken his word to Loki in all the years they had known each other, and he kept all that Loki had ever shared with him as secret as the young god desired. All this combined to form an unconditional solidarity that Loki had never found in any other person his entire life, and it was a feeling of such peace to be able to rely on another and trust them as much – more – than he trusted himself.

His daily struggle to bring peace to the irreconcilable contents of his head and heart was little aided by the fact that so much of what he felt and knew was too tangled for him to fully understand. It was like his mind had become a quagmire that he was stuck waist deep in, and he knew he either had to cross it or be sucked down. Fróði's presence was soothing, except when his nerves were raked raw by his failed attempts, and his temper fit to burst, his patience shattered. Loki did his best in every attempt to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense or pleased him, but it was like working with a puzzle that was missing half the pieces, and every effort came to nothing and ended in crushing failures that drained away a little more of his hope and stamina each time.

Beyond the jealousy, and guilt of the jealousy, and bitter anger with his father and brother, and self-loathing that he turned in on himself, and his attempts to reconcile who he wanted to be with who he was, Loki fought his loneliness. Fróði was the only being he had ever spoken candidly with his entire life, and Loki felt his heart burdened with so many secrets that there were times when he wanted to scream with frustration. He wanted to share the contents of his wounded soul, and yet he also wanted to keep his problems to himself – his weaknesses –, shut away where they could not be seen, and where – hopefully – they could be forgotten. None of what he truly felt could ever be shared with any of the members of his family; he was too different from them – a race apart, almost –, and none of them had ever fully understood him. They understood what small parts of him he allowed them access to, that he created and displayed for them, but beyond that, he was locked to their entry. Comprehension of his inner self was never going to be within their grasp (there were times when he wondered whether it would ever be within his _own_ grasp), and Loki wondered whether there would ever be anyone that he could share the entirety of his weighed down soul with; a person who would not judge him for his dishonourable thoughts and feelings, but merely accept and understand them and him and be content. As yet, he was finding it difficult to do so for himself, and his hopes of finding another who could do what he himself was failing to do every single day were non-existent.


	4. Ch 3: Breaking the Apathy of Bitterness

_~Chapter Three~__ Breaking the Apathy of Bitterness_

Frigg interlaced her ringed and bejewelled fingers in her lap, tightening her grip; the only concession she made to the exact level of her concern. She was in her morning chambers, having decided that it would be wisest to consult those she had summoned in an obvious place, rather than somewhere more secretive – which would lead to raising Odin's suspicions if he caught wind of what was happening, not to mention awkward questions.

Loki, she had always felt, was her responsibility, for it was blatantly obvious that Odin cared little for him even as he lavished his attentions upon Thor. If Odin were to hear of Loki's troubles, then she was sure that he would deal with them in a high handed, brash, and thoroughly inappropriate manner, and the discovery would most certainly sink Loki even further in his view, justifying his belief that Loki was weak; it was not something she was going to risk. Besides, Loki had already made it clear that he didn't welcome her involvement in whatever it was that was troubling him, let alone Odin's. As it was she knew she was walking on thin ice by having Loki followed in an attempt to discover what it was that was troubling him, but her maternal instinct drove her to do _something_, especially as there had been occasions in the past when she had failed to fend off Odin's unjust wrath for mistakes Loki might have made.

Frigg sighed, and regarded the god and goddess standing before her. Eir, a Valkyrie goddess and sometime companion of Frigg who was known to have considerable healing and medical skill, and Bragi, the god of wisdom; she had dispatched both earlier in the week to observe her son whenever possible and discover what they could.

"Have you found ought of what it is that troubles my son so?" She asked. The two glanced at each other. Bragi cleared his throat, a concerned hand drifting up to straighten the woven wreath of laurel leaves that crowned his wavy hair, and when he spoke his long brown beard waggled.

"Prince Loki has more wrong with him than simply being out of temper as is his usual wont. He alternates between periods of intense and undirected rage, and bouts of moping apathy; all conducted in a brooding silence. He no longer plays tricks on any of the gods or goddesses – even those which he used to set every day so that it became a habit for their subjects to negate them; all have been abandoned. It is very disconcerting. He has taken to frequenting the strangest of places; climbing buildings and sitting on the roofs, going up towers we no longer use, and hiding in rooms that are empty. He also spends a great deal of his time in the library – most often in the company of the head librarian." Bragi sighed. "The difference is such that it affects his whole personality and being; and in my observation of him, I had found myself wishing for his tricky self to be back with us once more. I fear that if he remains in this state over long he will make himself irreparably ill." Frigg's eyes widened at Bragi's words.

"And this _is_ all?" Frigg clarified. Bragi sighed, his eyes down swept, and he exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Eir, who nodded slightly.

"From what I can make out, he does not eat – he does not sleep; he has become little more than a walking skeleton…but with a terrible fire in his eyes that would consume the soul that looked upon them; I cannot think what has happened to his own," replied Bragi heavily, and with great reluctance. "Mother of him though you are, I think you would have great difficulty in recognising your son." Frigg was not Queen of Asgard for nothing. Internally she was swaying, her heart shrunk and crying out for help, but externally she remained calm, though her eyes had become very bright. Bragi glanced towards his companion with a nod.

Eir stepped forwards, tossing her head slightly so that her waist-length fiery mane flipped over her shoulder, her white kirtle sweeping the floor. "What ails the prince is not within my power to heal, my lady." She said gently. "I have felt for his spirit, and it is sorely afflicted. He is heartsick, but in a way that I have not come across before. His does not manifest itself in the manner that I am used to seeing in youths and young maids, and yet it is the only reason I can think for his being so afflicted, although I have never felt such before. Do you know if he has pursued and been rejected any person of late?"

Frigg felt almost like laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Love has never been on Loki's mind." She replied dryly. "He fairly cringes at the sight of Thor surrounded by women, though I cannot think why. Neither females, nor males, nor anything else have ever been in his particular line of interest in such a way as yet…in time, perhaps." Frigg frowned, her fingers pressed to her lips; shelving her worry and pain lest it cripple her faculties, and focussing on the information Eir had brought her. "But his heartsickness – what is it about it that makes it so different?"

Eir's fine brows contracted as she thought, and a spasm of pain flickered across her face. "His soul feels wounded and sad – there is a great gaping hole in his heart that engulfs much of him, it is far from shallow, and is the work of many years –, and the edges fester with a powerful bitterness. It is poisoning his spirit…one could almost say he is dying from the inside out." Frigg's eyes widened, her hands tightening on themselves, and for a moment her eyes gleamed wetly. But then it was gone, her control regained. Eir continued, "I could not say whether his current silence is because he is wasting away due to this crevasse or if it is because he is struggling to heal it; his very essence is in conflict."

"I would think, my lady, that whatever the cause of this it is something that has been accumulating for a long time." Bragi continued gently. "For what Eir described to feel and see to me after watching Loki's spirit had the touch of a long nursed grievance. Something recent has tipped the balance and caused his sudden strangeness. Although neither Eir nor myself can determine what it might be, this is something that should be fixed with due haste." Frigg nodded, thinking hard on what it could be that troubled Loki.

"Ahem." There was a polite cough from the doors, one of which was ajar. The heads of all three snapped to see who it was, hearts leaping. Kvasir stepped in, his expression apologetic through his plaited brown beard and hair.

"Kvasir; why is it that you interrupt our private counsel?" Asked Frigg in a hard voice, her normally kindly eyes cold. Respectfully, the god moved forwards, bowing before his queen, and then straightening the leathers he wore.

"I was passing in the corridor beyond, my lady," he began politely, "and I could not help but overhear some of what passed between you all. I listened with some interest when I heard the name of our Prince Loki mentioned, for I have often spent time with him, listening to his finer japes, giving him a little inspiration for some of his tricks where they needed it, and sometimes even helping him." Frigg tapped her nails on the arms of her chair, her entire attitude revealing her thinly veiled impatience. Her mood was not lost on Kvasir, and he hurried on. "What I mean to say, is that his dullness and temper have not been lost on me, and I think I may have a way to recover his former amiability." All three listeners glanced up sharply, and stared at Kvasir intently, although their scrutiny did not seem to waver his confidence. "It could well be that Loki has merely run out of inspiration, and is frustrated with it and himself. Perhaps he even blames its disappearance on himself. I know that many of the mortals that have cried out my name for inspiration are similarly affected, and the more extreme ones forsake their food and bed as the prince has done, making themselves physically ill when all that has occurred is a barrenness of their mind." Kvasir paused, gauging Frigg's response to his words.

"Well, what do you suggest?" She asked. Kvasir smiled charmingly, assured of having an attentive listener.

"I suggest that he finds himself a muse," he replied. "I myself spend a great deal of my time down at Mærsalr with the nymphs, for they are amusing and their antics are engaging enough. I think this may be what Loki needs. They are tricky, albeit in a different way to our prince, but they may refresh his mind, and if not, at least prevent him from dwelling on whatever it is that troubles him so." Frigg was nodding slightly, seeing the sense of the god's words. Encouraged, Kvasir continued. "I could speak with him, if you so wish, my lady. As we were on amicable terms before this sickening of his, he may be less inclined to reject me in the same manner that he has done with others." Frigg nodded once, then gazed at the still waiting Eir and Bragi, who had watched and listened in silence. Eir seemed accepting enough of Kvasir's proposition although her expression remained concerned, but Bragi's heavy brows were drawn together, his eyes preoccupied in the manner of a man marshalling his arguments.

"Your thoughts, Bragi?" Asked Frigg, her shrewdly assessing eyes fixed upon his countenance.

"I cannot believe that the lack of a muse is the fount of Prince Loki's problems, my lady. Such behaviour cannot merely be allotted to a loss of inspiration – nor such a wound in his spirit as Eir saw." Bragi began, his tone carefully measured, although his disdain was still etched in his face. "Kvasir has a way of simplifying matters, and we all know that he gets more than inspiration from the nymphs, though he never says it." He directed his words towards his injured looking fellow god with contemptuous venom. Kvasir made to protest his innocence, but Frigg had turned a piercing eye upon him, and under her sharp gaze he fell silent.

"I have heard of the time you spend with the nymphs, Kvasir; from Freyja and Sjöfn – and whilst their tales may differ, their facts tally. Do not believe me blind to the truth. It is not that I disapprove, but know that it is better to speak with plain honesty." She eyed Kvasir sternly until he nodded solemnly. "However, I see your suggestion to be a worthwhile one, and I hope dearly that the cause of my son's problems is as simple as you believe it to be." Bragi opened his mouth to say something but was silenced by a glance from Frigg. "Do not think that I slight your opinion, Bragi. However, unless you can offer me some like suggestion that might cure Loki, I am afraid you must concede to my decision to follow Kvasir's plan." Bragi sighed, clearly at a loss.

"My lady." He replied, yieldingly with a small bow. Frigg inclined her head.

"Thank you, and you Eir, for your efforts." It was a dismissal. Eir and Bragi curtseyed and bowed, exiting. "Kvasir; go to my son. He ought to be in the library according to Eir's observations. Make your suggestions, but do not tell of my involvement. I sense that he does not wish to share his troubles with me, and would resent my intrusion. After you have done so, come back and tell me of your success; I am counting on you." Kvasir nodded solemnly, bowed, and exited.

Frigg sighed as her attendants re-entered, rubbing her temples distractedly a deep frown furrowing her smooth brow. What Eir and Bragi had said about Loki was worrying, and that they had only come up with a single solution – and that by chance – was not reassuring. She only wished that, in their confusion, Eir and Bragi had accidentally overstated the seriousness of Loki's irritable depression; she could not bear to think that there was something weighing upon his mind that she didn't know about and that was eating him from the inside out – especially if there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"Do you wish to rest, my lady?" Enquired Fulla, solicitously. Frigg shook her head.

"No," she replied, "I am just a little out of sorts; I shall be fine soon. Call in the musicians; I find myself in need of a soothing tune."

It took Kvasir some little time to locate the library. He had been there before, but infrequently, and once there he spent even more time in its cavernous depths trying to locate Loki. It was a difficult hunt, for the god had no certainty that Loki _was_ in the library, merely the assumption, and its size did nothing to ease his task.

Eventually, after having the misfortune to accidentally walk into the back of Berghildr as she shelved books, and be treated to a strict warning from the tall and imposingly large bodied goddess, he discovered Loki's alcove and walked up to him as he sat in a funk of apathy half heartedly reading a book, with a sigh of relief. It was only his pleasure at finally locating Loki that prevented Kvasir's expression from displaying the shock he felt upon seeing the prince – for he had only heard Bragi's report, and not seen its effects first hand. Carefully he schooled his manner, however, feeling it would be better to skirt such a matter with the prince, which would, undoubtedly, be delicate.

Loki did not feel the same sense of relief at seeing Kvasir, and was not pleased at having his solitude interrupted, for his mind's tenacity had been loosening of late due to the deprivation his body had undergone, so that reprieves from the nettling issue that he daily battled with were becoming more frequent. It was a double edged sword, however, for although his mind was given more rest, his thoughts were becoming easier to scatter which only served to increase his frustration. He was already in a slightly tetchy mood, Fróði and his agreeable influence having departed a while since, and was in little humour to give consequence to Kvasir's concerns about Berghildr and his entreaties to exit the library to the gardens outside where they could talk in something above a whisper.

Eventually, when it became clear that Loki was determined to remain in his chair, and in a mood that made him as stubborn as an old ram – although thankfully not in one that resulted in the unprovoked hurling of insults – Kvasir cut his losses and sat in Fróði's chair; an inadvertent gesture that pricked Loki's growing irritation, for just as he had claimed the alcove for his sole use, and just as he always sat in the same chair, so did the opposite chair belong solely to Fróði – to have another sit in it was intolerable.

"If you don't mind my saying so, you seem to have been somewhat out of sorts of late," Kvasir began. A dangerous spark of pique flashed in Loki's eyes, but he said nothing and continued to stare at his book, though he was not taking in a single sentence. "We have not met up of late, and I find myself missing hearing your tales of trickery." Kvasir leant forwards with the air of a conspirator. "I think you have lost your inspiration; your muse, if you will." Loki was hard pressed to restrain a snort of amusement at the inaccuracy of Kvasir's assumption. However, the smile showed in the lifting of the corners of his eyes, and his companion took it to be a good sign. "It is nothing to be ashamed of or angry about; it happens to everyone…well, except me, of course." Kvasir let out a peculiar little giggle and snort of amusement, as though he had made a particularly good joke. Loki ground his teeth. "Why don't you come down with me to the nymph's hall – Mærsalr. They provide good sport. They're petty in their moods, and their tricks are simple contrivances, but you will find yourself greatly amused – and they all have charms enough to recommend them. If they tempt and whet your appetite, they are more than willing to satisfy it." Kvasir winked. Loki refrained from rolling his eyes. Such base activities he left to his brother; the thought of taking women to his bed was a dull one, he knew from experience – and he had better things to do with his time than listen to their inane wittering which would, like as not, be entirely without sincerity. If Thor wanted to blinker himself to their artifice, that was fine, but he had no need of it.

Besides which, finding a woman that genuinely cared to be with him was an impossible thought – and not one that was particularly high on his agenda; the most interest any females took in him was due to his status as a prince, or as a means of introduction to either of his brothers. Generally he was shunted to one side where women were concerned, for all had eyes for Thor and Baldr, particularly Thor, and all seemed either snub him, be repelled by him, or be afraid of him, if not a combination of all three. Indeed, the demi-goddess that had last shared his bed had actually had the nerve to ask if she could meet Thor before they had even finished. Needless to say, Loki had willed his clothes back on in an instant and then dematerialised with her into the middle of the plain of Ida, then returned to his bed to sleep, leaving her stranded there. He had not been entirely without generosity, however, having left her the bed sheet to wrap herself in, although she little deserved it. Her clothes he had disappeared, having no need for them. She had returned to Asgard a good week or so later, having been discovered by the Æsir when the gods had assembled in their hall Gladsheim and the goddesses in Vingolf for a meeting. However she was too terrified to recount the tale of how she had come to be there – fearing Loki's sharp eyes from the shadows of where he had stood behind his parent's thrones during her audience with them. No, she had been the last, Loki decided, and was likely to remain so for a very long time; he wasn't about to let himself become a stool for idiotic females to stand on in an attempt to get closer to his idiotic brother. Loki had long ago learnt not to expect anything from females and to simply to ignore them unless they were to be made tools of and implemented in his schemes – in which case, if they were essential, he charmed them, tapping a hidden and extensive reservoir of charisma.

Kvasir, however, was oblivious to Loki's thoughts, and continued on. "If not, you may still find them wily enough to watch, and you may find some ideas kindled by their activities." Kvasir gazed at Loki expectantly, and eventually Loki unbent enough to allow him a non-committal grunt.

Kvasir pursed his lips, and took up the bit once more.

He rattled on for quite some time, waxing eloquent on the charms of several of his favourite nymphs, relating amusing anecdotes, and saying all he could think that might sway the young god to cast off his languor and to come down to the nymphs. Mærsalr was quite some distance, and Kvasir – in his desperation to make the journey appealing, and his determination to stir the prince – described at length the various sights that could be seen on the way there. In this he had caught a thread of Loki's interest, for the distance itself – regardless of whatever wonders there might be to behold along the way – was appealing to him. To get away, not only from Valhalla, but from the very area that it was in, away out to the city bounds; to the edge where things became more open. Where there were green swards, and forests, and lakes; freedom. Where there was space that was not under the immediate dominion of his father, and free from the constant expectation that Thor could appear from anywhere to rope him into discussions about how fine his hall's refurbishments looked. That was appealing indeed – Valhalla was large, but hiding places were by no means exhaustive. However, Loki schooled his expression, although he listened with greater attentiveness to his friend's words.

At great length, Kvasir gave up, although his determination had to be admired. He clapped the prince on the shoulder in a hearty fashion that Loki found disgustingly reminiscent of Thor, tilting his emaciated frame in his seat, and then marched away down the corridor created by two book shelves. Loki appeared just as moodily silent as he had been when their one-sided discussion had begun. However, in an attempt to end the conversation on a cheerful note, Kvasir turned as he reached the main aisle of the library and called back to the prince – having forgotten his warning from Berghildr in his quest to convince Loki. "Well, I have business to be about, but if you want to talk – you know where to find me!" He winked knowingly.

He had stopped as he called, and waved back at the unsmiling Loki. However, as the words left his mouth, echoing down the tall bookshelves to the prince, and disturbing the peaceful silence of the building, a metal paperweight came whistling out of nowhere and struck Kvasir in the stomach with a dull thunk, winding him, followed by a barrage of reprimands that fell from the mouth of the unseen Berghildr.

"What do you think you are doing? SHOUTING?! IN A _LIBRARY_?!" She screeched. Her strident voice bellowed a great stream of imprecations at the unfortunate god that echoed up to the vaulted ceilings of the building.

"Madam, I do apologise," Kvasir called in an attempt to placate the lady, raising his voice to make himself heard over her own bawling. His apology did little to appease her, however, instead drawing forth an even greater torrent of abuse and threats, as well as several more projectiles that were (as far as Loki could make out from his chair) more paperweights, an empty inkpot, several letter openers that were mercifully blunt, a great deal of wooden stamps, and finally a great swatch of leather cut to the proportions of the book cover it was supposed to replace (which struck Kvasir about the face).

As Kvasir rushed out, Loki could not help but crack a grin. Vaguely sympathetic as he was for Kvasir's plight, it was nevertheless an amusing spectacle. The diversion was only brief, however, and Loki soon fell back into his previous torpor, languidly glancing at his still open book every now and then as the still fuming Berghildr appeared to collect the objects she had lobbed at Kvasir.

Winded, and not without bruises in unseen places, Kvasir made his way back to Fensalir with all possible speed. The thought that Berghildr might pursue him out of the library hastened his footsteps for quite some time, but once he had made it out of the gardens surrounding the entrance to the library, and saw that no one was in pursuit of him, Kvasir slowed, nursing his injuries – slight as they were.

By the time he had gained entrance to Frigg's chambers once more he had regained most of his composure, and recounted what had passed between himself and Loki, omitting any mention of Berghildr and his ignominious exit from the library.

"While the young prince did not seem particularly enthused at my proposition, my lady, I feel that it is prudent for us to give him some time to think on the matter before attempting another approach. Denial is not an uncommon barrier, and it may take him some small time to come to his senses about the matter." Frigg nodded.

"I see the sense of your words, Kvasir. However, before we let Loki alone, if this heartsickness that afflicts him _is_ to do with rejection from a lover, I think it best if someone his own age talks to him about it. I have chosen Thor – after all they are brothers, and Thor has some wide experience in dealing with women. I thank you for your efforts." Frigg inclined her head, and Kvasir bowed, exiting as Loki's burly older brother strode in.

"Mother; Fulla said you wished to speak with me." Frigg nodded, and beckoned her son closer.

"What I wished to speak of to you is a matter of some delicacy, my son. It must be kept from your father, you understand?" Thor nodded seriously.

"What is it? Say the word and I shall complete any task you set me." He replied. Frigg smiled.

* * *

Her explanation of the matter did not take long, and the tale that Loki could be pining for a lover gave Thor cause for a hearty guffaw.

"My brother! In love!" He laughed. "What a matter this is! And what is it that you would have me do? Speak to the lady? Divert Loki?"

"We are not sure if he is in love; but if he is, might you try to coax out the problem from him? Whether it is unrequited affection or rejected advances, or something else of a similar nature?" Frigg asked. Thor nodded stoutly.

"This very minute." He replied, straightening his belt. "He may be stubborn as a mule, but on this matter I shall find him out. Where is he?"

"The library." Thor's brows furrowed deeply.

"Where is that?" He asked. Frigg sighed.

"Fulla will take you."


	5. Ch 4: A New Light

_~Chapter Four~__ A New Light_

Kvasir strode along, wincing occasionally when the swinging movement of his stride twinged one of his bruises, set on going to visit the nymphs. He felt he had certainly earned their affection today, and was sorely in need of their gentle words and batting lashes to soothe his wounded pride.

He had barely set foot on the path that would take him down to the precinct, when he spotted two figures whose flowing dresses and height identified them instantly as nymphs. As they neared, he saw who they were. "Ah! Káta! Ölrún!" He hailed them jovially. "What a pleasant surprise! I was just coming down to the hall to see you two!"

"Oh really, Kvasir?" Replied Káta, her tone typically acidic, "and I suppose if any of the other nymphs had come along you would _never_ have said the same thing to them," her voice was bitingly sarcastic. As they drew level with each other Káta's companion, who was only slightly taller than herself, and a nymph in possession of merry blue eyes and long curly blonde hair, showed signs of wanting to stop and talk. Káta, however, marched onwards, her friend following with some reluctance, and passing the halted Kvasir. "Come _on_, Rúna," she muttered, grasping her friend's hand and dragging her along in an attempt to leave behind the god. Kvasir, however, was not so easily shaken off, and quickly turned around and followed them up the path.

"Ölrún!" He exclaimed as soon as they were level. "I never knew your nickname was Rúna! It's so pretty – and especially becoming for you. A pretty name for a pretty nymph." Rúna blushed and nodded shyly.

"Thank you, Kvasir." She murmured.

"Indeed," continued to god, "it is one of my favourite names."

"Really?" Enquired Rúna, her blue eyes wide in astonishment, her entire attention focussed on Kvasir, and ignoring her friend.

"Oh yes," replied Kvasir, impressively, "I have always considered it to be one of the finest names I know."

Káta sighed, heavily – rudely – and did her best to ignore her friend and Kvasir as they continued up the left fork in the path, and on to the library. She knew that Rúna had no interest in books, and that she had only come to see which gods she might meet along the way, but Káta had still thought – naively, perhaps – that Rúna had progressed past Kvasir's smarm, smooth as it was.

With a little selfishness she wished that Rúna would keep the god's attentions to herself, and that he would forget her presence. It was not to be, however, for Kvasir was determined to hold at least a single civil conversation with Káta, for in their entire association she had never yet acknowledged him with anything but scorn. The level of his solicitousness for both nymphs, but particularly Káta – as Kvasir knew that he had already secured Rúna's interest – was such that he did not notice their destination, even as they entered it, and thoughts of Berghildr and her threats were far from his mind, his eyes fixed on the pretty faces of the nymphs.

* * *

"Let me carry your books for you," Kvasir offered as Káta climbed up one of the ladders that leant against the bookshelves. His attentions had been unstinting for a good ten minutes, and Káta was determined to shake him off. She rolled her eyes at the books before for her, then smiled sweetly down as a plan began to unfold in her mind.

Unbeknownst to any of the party they had come to the aisle that was level with Loki's alcove. He had tired of the book, and abandoned it on the table. At first the entry of the three had irritated him, for the constant hum of Kvasir's unending conversation and compliments broke the peacefulness of his solitude. Soon however, Loki found his attention captured by the interactions of the group. It was clear that the women were nymphs, and that the taller blonde one would have worshipped the very ground Kvasir stood on in the tiresome manner that nymphs did. The shorter one, however, was different. That she disliked Kvasir's attentions was plain, and curious enough – that she was so open in her dislike was even more so. Loki sat up slightly, a new light sparking in his eyes which were trained on the girl as she pulled herself up the ladder.

There was something pleasing about her form, and it was a few moments before Loki was aware that the corners of his mouth had lifted in a soft smile, quite unlike his usual smirks and grins. The moment he realised this, however, he wiped away the smile. Afterall, many women were pleasing to look at – it was when you looked in deeper, beneath the veneer of beauty that what they were truly like was revealed. Loki's lip curled; no doubt this particular nymph was just picky – he knew some thought the Nine Worlds of themselves, with or without reason. He subsided into his chair with a sigh, although he could not help but continue to stare at the nymph as he one handedly groped about the table for his book. He opened it, not noticing that it was upside down, and flicked through a couple of pages, his eyes fluttering along the meaningless lines of writing, not taking any of it in, and darting up every now and then to watch the nymph with feigned nonchalance. It was not until she began to rain books down on the unfortunate Kvasir, that Loki decided that she had more depth to her character, or at least, more inventiveness, than the average nymph. Interest kindled in his bleak soulful eyes, the light of curiosity and amusement replacing the poisonous preoccupation and resentment that had claimed their tortured green depths of late.

Káta had chosen her shelf well. It was stocked with all sorts of books; ancient ones covered in dust with their bindings cracking, prized copies with their embossed covers studded with precious stones, and thick tomes so heavy she had to use both hands to pull them out. All within reach were removed and dropped, with some care, onto the steadily growing pile in the unfortunate Kvasir's arms.

Loki narrowed his eyes, speculatively. He noticed the method in the nymph's selection, random though it appeared, and noted too the sort of books that she was selecting. Amusing as Kvasir's plight was, Loki could not help but think, nymph though she was, there was something finer to this particular female's plan. As she slid easily down the ladder, her dress whipping and swirling about her, he wrapped himself in a fine net of invisibility and dematerialised, reappearing at the top of the shelf that the group stood at. His lofty vantage point allowed him a wide view of the area, and his hearing was acute enough to allow him to be party to their conversation.

"Káta, my dear," called a familiar soft voice. Káta turned to see Fróði making his unhurried way towards her. She was good friends with the head-librarian, and even had garnered respect enough from Berghildr in her treatment of books to earn a kindly word or the occasional wink from her.

"Fróði!" She exclaimed, hugging him as soon as he was near enough.

Atop the bookshelf Loki frowned slightly. Odd for a nymph to be engaged enough in books to be as cordial with Fróði as he was.

Kvasir and Rúna paused in their conversation to accord Fróði the respect and greeting he was due, which he returned before turning away to walk with Káta.

"We'll just be on the other side." Káta said over her shoulder, her companions nodding absently, too engrossed in each other to pay much heed to her words. Kvasir was particularly abstracted, his attention split three ways, focussing mainly on looking as casual and unburdened as possible even as he struggled with the weighty pile of books that were steadily lengthening his arms. Loki restrained a snort – the things people would do for women.

Once out of sight and earshot around the corner, Fróði treated Káta to a surprised and somewhat reproachful look. "If you were going to bring a man friend with you I would have at least thought you wouldn't have brought Kvasir." He began. "Besides everything else, he has not impressed Berghildr at all; she's already thrown things at him you know – and that was barely an hour ago. If she spots him here again…" Fróði sucked in a breath, although his eyes were twinkling, "I wouldn't like to be him." A mischievous light glimmered in Káta's golden eyes.

"Well, we can always hope," she grinned, but the levity in her face died as she sighed, waving her hands quickly. "But it's not like that. He just met us on the way and sort of…attached himself." Káta frowned. "The fact that Rúna is perpetually making doe eyes at him doesn't help discourage him, of course. She only came to see if she could meet any gods." She muttered, a flush of embarrassment rising to her cheeks. She glanced up. "But that's why I need your help; to get rid of Kvasir. I'm never going to get any peace to look at books with him hovering around…and what you said about Berghildr has given me something more of an idea." Fróði's eyes gleamed and his face cracked an evil grin.

"What am I to do?" He asked; Káta grinned.

"Distract him long enough for me to get Rúna onside, then for us to disappear, and once he realises, find Berghildr and set her on him. I'll take care of everything else." Fróði nodded and winked. He turned to make his way back with Káta to the others, when he suddenly paused, one hand upheld. His face was deeply furrowed with thought as he turned back to Káta, who, noticing the solemnity that lined his features, frowned herself, but in concern. "What is it, Fróði?" She asked.

Fróði frowned even more deeply, eventually he sighed. "I hesitate to involve you in this, but…" he sighed. "Something must be done," he muttered to himself. Káta frowned again.

"Fróði?" She asked. Fróði looked up at her.

"I wonder if I might ask a favour of you – in return for this little trick, you might say?" He asked after a long moment. Káta's face cleared.

"Of course – ask whatever you wish, you need not pay me back for your help in this; I would help anyway." She replied sincerely. Fróði frowned pensively, then nodded, and smiled as he patted her on the shoulder.

"Good. Well – if you would, visit me within the week, and I will tell you what it is that I would ask of you." Káta nodded, confused by his heavy seriousness, but perfectly willing to do any task he asked of her.

"Of course." She replied, smiling.

As Fróði and the nymph rejoined the other two, Loki rolled over onto his back for a moment, the light of interest gleaming in his eyes, his troubles momentarily forgotten. Fróði's voice drifted up to him, engaging a reluctant Kvasir in discussion.

"Rúna!" Exclaimed the over bright voice of the nymph Fróði had called Káta, "you simply _must_ see this book on the other side!"

Loki rolled back onto his chest and peered over the edge in time to see Káta seize her friend by the arm and drag her around the corner where they stood with their heads close together.

"Look, Rúna. I know you don't want to spend time in the library, but I _do_, so if you do this for me, you can go and spend time with Kvasir." Káta began, clasping her friend's hands in her own. Rúna nodded, grinning as she sensed one of her friend's tricks; she was not as self-obsessed as many of the other nymphs, and was essentially very kind, although she enjoyed a good laugh. Káta smiled. "Good. I need you to stand half in the doors to the library. When you see Kvasir coming; go outside, and back to the hall – he'll follow you. But make sure he sees your dress going out the door."

"All right." Rúna slipped away down the main aisle of the library, and stood in the half open door, her eyes on the corner that Kvasir would come around.

Loki watched as Káta crept back along the bookshelf until she had reached the opposite end. Cautiously she peeped around the corner. Kvasir was standing, his legs buckling slightly, with his back to her. She waved her hand at Fróði, and nodded her head once. He gave her the slightest of winks, and she whipped back around the corner.

"I believe we have mislaid your companions," Fróði began casually, and together he and Kvasir checked the aisle that Rúna and Káta had ostensibly gone into, only to discover it was empty.

"By Odin, where have they gone?" Exclaimed Kvasir. Atop the shelf, Loki restrained a snicker.

"Perhaps they have left and did not wish to disturb us," suggested Fróði innocently, even as he slipped off to find his wife, displaying a remarkable level of agility and light-footedness for one so old. The disappearance of the head-librarian went unnoticed by Kvasir, for he had shuffled out into the main corridor of the library, and just caught a glimpse of Rúna's skirts whipping out the door.

With a strangled cry he rushed towards the door, his arms still full of books, although some few toppled from the pile in his hurry, thudding to the floor. Loki watched, his chin on his crossed arms, grinning as Berghildr came marching along. Kvasir, as yet unaware of the danger he was in, remained standing just beyond the open door of the library, calling after Rúna, and presumably Káta.

Berghildr was already in a stormy mood from the sight of the abandoned books on the floor, some with their covers open and pages bent. It was not until she caught sight of Kvasir standing outside, his arms full of books she knew he had not loaned out, as well as a great many that were too precious or delicate to leave the protection of the library, that she became truly furious.

With a roar, she charged, falling upon the unfortunate god and snatching the books from him. Kvasir's feelings were written across his face, and even as he attempted an apology, Berghildr brutally cuffed him down the steps with an echoing warning not to come back again.

Atop his bookshelf, Loki surveyed the scene with a grin, disappearing as he re-cloaked himself in invisibility, a trick of his own forming in his mind.


	6. Ch 5: Unexpected Surprises

_~Chapter Five~__ Unexpected Surprises_

Káta sighed with relief as Berghildr slammed the doors shut, having snuck out and along the bookshelf in time to see Kvasir's ignominious ejection. Alone at last. Peace at last. She grinned to herself as she backed along the bookshelf, her fingers trailing along the leather bound spines, and could help but let out a small giggle of triumph.

"I saw what you did," a low silky voice murmured softly right by her ear, quiet and teasingly intimate, the words coming out on a warm breath that ruffled the soft baby curls of hair about her temple, and trailed across the skin of her cheek. The words, layered with the faintest edge of menace, dropped into the air just as she backed into something tall and solid, a delectable shudder trailing up her spine as she did so for the voice was like nothing she had ever heard before.

Loki had chosen his moment well; not speaking until the back of the cheerfully unaware nymph was a hairsbreadth from touching his still invisible chest, bending his neck a little so his mouth was as close as possible to her ear without touching her.

At the sound and touch Káta's entire body leapt, her arms flying to instinctively cross her chest as she spun round, a soft shriek of fright forming in her throat. Her hair almost whipped Loki across the face as she turned, and the speed of her movement was such that she lost balance slightly, tilting across the shadow of a gap between them and into his chest, which was only just becoming visible.

"Oh, no, no, no, no." Loki murmured reprovingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, waving a single finger as he saw the beginnings of a scream in the nymph's electrified expression. Almost of their own accord, his long fingered hands grasped her firmly, but not painfully, about her upper arms, at once steadying her, and keeping her clamped against his chest. Emaciated as he was, he still had the strength of a god in his limbs.

Káta gulped soundlessly, staring up into the face of the tall, hollow cheeked god that she was pressed against, her wide startled eyes locked on his mesmerising green ones. She could feel her heart beating wildly against her hand and arm from the surprise he had given her, her breathing erratic and soundlessly gasping. Even though there was nothing to be afraid of, it was a struggle to breathe deeply and calmly, and her pulse flickered in her throat, her heart continuing to beat at a relentless uneven pace though she did not know why.

Loki gave her a few moments for the panic in her eyes to settle – he wasn't going to return her voice to her if all she would do was scream –, studying her all the while. She kept her composure remarkably well, considering the circumstances; alarm filled her eyes for only a few moments before measured deep breathing took over, her chest rising and falling rhythmically between them. She had very unusual eyes; beautifully remarkable. To have called them yellow would have not done them justice; nor even amber – they were _gold_; a beautiful gentle shade of liquid gold, pale on the surface but richer beneath, with a star or flower-like pattern around the pupil. He had never seen anything like them.

It was not until Loki realised that he was staring into her eyes, intensely transfixed, and she back into his, her expression both overwhelmed and enthralled, that he remembered himself and their surroundings, and waved his hand, lifting his spell and returning her voice. Curiously, she still made no sound, save for the soft outward sigh of her breathing.

Káta felt the circumstances to be quite beyond her, her arms lying limply against her chest; held there by the young god's chest, which was too close for her to drop them, had she thought to. It was an unusual feeling, for she was normally very self-possessed. She thought that such an abrupt deprivation of control in a situation would have angered her – for she knew that it was this young haggard god who had stirred up these feelings and caused this situation, and normally would have already dealt him a sharp retort –, but instead there was something in her heart and head that was thrilling at the complete release of supervision – as if, in a bout of impetuousness, she had thrown all to the winds; she felt unburdened and recklessly free because of it. It was a heady feeling. It made her want to run and jump and sing and have furious fights with people and play tricks on strangers; all at once; all at the same time.

Sternly, however, she tamped down on the exhilaration that was rushing through her veins, and fought to regain control of her scattered faculties. In an attempt to focus her blankly drifting mind, she began to study the young god's wasted face in earnest, for they were barely inches apart. His skin would have been pale and fine, like new milk, save for an unhealthy pallor that she knew to be from a lack of sleep and food – as indicated by the extreme gauntness of his face, and the maroon smudges around his eyes. For all this, however, his skin was smoothly even, save for a set of deeply recessed frown lines across his brow which were far stronger than they ought to have been, given his age. His eyes were alive with a breath-taking exuberance below expressive eyebrows, and above cheekbones that appeared sculpted in a likeness of a smoothly-edged sharp cliff face, drastically accentuated by his thinness. He had a longish straight nose, and a slim lipped mouth that looked like it would have a generous smile, although the smile lines about it were peculiar; some correct and genuine, others sad and uneasy. There was something in his expression that was hungry, almost unconsciously; an intense, burning desire in his starved eyes that went beyond the need for sustenance. It was an expression that at once confused and exhilarated Káta. As her eyes swept down, taking in the rest of his lissomly pinched figure, and the colours of his sagging garments realisation of his identity began to dawn upon her. It took a few moments before exactly who the god before her was struck her freezing blast of recognition.

Loki saw with amusement the recognition that flashed into her eyes, and splashed across her face, and the shock and confusion that quickly followed, although he was surprised to see a complete lack of fear or revulsion.

"Prince Loki?!" She gasped, still not quite sure whether the wasted young man before her was indeed the god she thought him to be. They continued to stare at one another, Loki's eyes glinting mischievously. "You should eat and sleep, you know." The words slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop herself. Horrified with herself, Káta gazed into Loki's eyes, waiting for a reprimand. His eyes lost none of their previous sparkle, but a slight frown twitched his brows before he cocked a surprised and slightly expectant eyebrow. Káta knew what the eyebrow meant – how could she forget proper etiquette, today of all days? After all, one did not simply stare at the major gods like a gaping idiot, nor tell them what to do – even if they were as thin as a rake and looked half dead from starvation – and particularly _not_ after walking into them. Káta felt her face flush. "I – forgive me." She attempted to fall a step back, but failed to do so due to the grasp of his hands.

With a little surprise and awkwardness they both looked down at the intimate locking of their bodies, both of them having temporarily forgotten their proximity in their mutual examination of one another. Loki released the grip of his hands, looking slightly unmanned, as though he hadn't realised what they had been doing, and they fell apart, a slight gasp escaping both of them. A roseate blush flooded the apples of Káta's cheeks as she became suddenly aware of every inch of her body that had been in contact with his, and she was immensely glad that they had not been discovered in such a…well, what could have been considered an exceedingly intimate embrace between lovers – which they most certainly weren't. She let her arms fall to her sides as she curtseyed, dipping her head, glad that he couldn't see her thoughts.

"My Prince." She murmured, coming out of the curtsey and keeping her eyes lowered to the floor, the dusky blush of mortification still warming her cheeks. She could still feel the cold imprint of his hands and fingers about her arms, though there was no mark. His skin was surprisingly cool on the surface, and the outline of where he had held her tingled. "I – I…didn't notice you; my apologies."

The corner of Loki's mouth lifted in a grin. His own surprise at finding his hands keeping her close to him was as great as her own had been, greater in fact, save he was a master of deception and easily shelved and veiled the emotion. The turmoil and confusion of her mind was evident, for her brows were drawn together in a slight frown, her lips somehow at once pursed and pressed together, and her stunning eyes, when they surreptitiously darted a glance at him, preoccupied. It was such a sweet expression that Loki merely stared. It was not until the blush began to fade from her cheeks and she began to stare with greater boldness up into his eyes, her own questioning, that he came to himself once more.

"I am friends with Kvasir," he said, his voice hard, gazing down at her, his eyes narrowed in speculation. "How would it be if I told him of your trick on him?"

Loki had expected her be shocked and upset, perhaps even to entreat him not to. What he received was an expression of shock, yes, but along with it finely leashed anger and the faintest hint of betrayal. "Well I would not think you to be as sporting as I might have expected." She replied somewhat haughtily, no longer shy in her manner, but unflinchingly meeting his gaze. It was a novel experience, for Loki was used to people avoiding eye contact with him at all costs, and when their eyes _did_ meet, looking as terrified as a mouse before a hawk; he restrained a grin – she was turning out to be a great deal more than he had ever hoped for. He noticed too that, short as she was, she was still tall enough that his greater height was not such a belittlement as it would be with most goddesses, and they had always seemed to feel his superior height keenly; this nymph, however, appeared to disregard it entirely as she gazed fiercely up at him. "As God of Mischief I would have expected you to enjoy a trick; not ruin it." She seemed then to remember that she was addressing one of the Princes of Asgard, and lowered her defiant eyes, although she did not seem to regret her bold words from the set of her chin. "But," she said, addressing his shoes, "you must do as you see fit…my prince." The pause was exquisitely timed; at once rude and insinuating, and Loki could read the struggle in her tone, knowing just how hard it had been for her to grind out the courtesy, even if she had managed to make it an insult.

Loki restrained a laugh with difficulty, although he could not help but grin; she grew more interesting and unusual by the second. She certainly was made of something different to most people he came across. Not afraid of him in the slightest; nor repelled either. Daring to speak her opinion to a prince; showing her open disapproval his manner and actions, and even going so far as to comment unfavourably on his appearance and tell him what he ought to do. She had energy, and a sharp bite; perhaps something of a temper, too – wit, certainly, and a daring nature. The tricks they could play together were boundless, and he himself was very close to abandoning the trick he was playing on her.

"You would dictate my actions, would you?" He asked, an impish sparkle in his eye although his voice remained sternly questioning and aloof through a severe amount of control.

Káta found herself beginning to dislike Loki greatly. To be sure, at first, there had been something about him – something in the dulcet sound of his voice, the aesthetic planes of his hollow angular face (for all its gauntness), the reassuring firmness of his body where it had pressed against hers (which had seemed to remain, for all the evident loss of flesh), a faint glimmer of, dare she think it, vulnerability in his enthralling eyes, for all their challenging arrogance – but now he was just being unpleasant. If he wanted to twist her arm, fine; but she wasn't going to beg him to be lenient – she wasn't going to give him any sport. Her anger at his presumption that he could manipulate her so easily for his own ends, whatever they might be, infuriated her; she had kept a stern control of her anger up until then, but there was something maddening about the assured way that he spoke that cracked her control like nothing else had. Prince or no prince, his ego and arrogance needed deflating.

Loki noticed the fiery spark that had entered her eyes, downcast as they were, and licked his lips in anticipation of the fury she was about to release. Káta slowly tilted her head up and gazed directly into Loki's face, her own candid and fearless.

"Given that you behave more like a bully than a prince, yes." She replied, tossing her hair over one shoulder with a furious flick of her head, and staring challengingly up at him. "Tell Kvasir I played a trick on him; do what you want! I've done it before – he won't care; and even if he does, maybe you'll be doing me a good turn, and he'll leave me alone – so much the better for me!" Her anger poured out of her in a loquacious torrent, unchecked by thought or reason. Loki enjoyed it; fuelled by anger as she was, she unwittingly revealed a great deal of inner truths about herself. "I never asked him to follow me! So have your fun; taunt me, do as you please! But don't expect me to whimper and beg you to leave me alone – I'm not some pathetic female that you're used to manipulating, so don't think for one _second_ that I'm not going to fight you back; I'm not afraid of you." She let out an angry huff of air, frowning deeply at Loki with an expression that he found unsettlingly piercing. "Maybe it's because you're a prince," she continued, "you're used to getting things your way – of doing whatever you please without ramifications; without being reprimanded – but that doesn't mean it's right." Her words had struck a nerve, Káta could tell. There again was that flash of pain – and something else, something much more complex; the origins of that pain. She had cracked of the armour of arrogance that shielded his eyes, revealing a chink of the truth in their shifting green depths; and she paused, caught up by the brief glint of true emotion. It appealed to her. For all her fierce vivacity and sharp tongue, Káta had a very gentle heart, and she could see the bruised feelings that her words had surfaced in Loki's eyes. She blinked, frowning as the barriers shifted and closed ranks once more, a wave of genuine anger flooding his face. It was a terrible expression, forbidding, and one that would have frightened a god of lesser courage, let alone a nymph.

Loki, unaware that the pain Káta's words had dredged up from the inner depths of his soul had shown in his eyes, stared at her with a new fury. What did she know of his life? What did she know of the look of loathing tinged disappointment that Odin always reserved just for him? Getting things his own way?! Never being reprimanded?! Such an occasion would certainly be one to be remembered if it had ever happened. He snorted slightly. "You know _nothing_." The soft, hating words had escaped his mouth before he had even decided to say them. Loki's eyes turned inward, away from the nymph before him, his thoughts returning to the wounded core of his soul, nursing his injuries, forgetting that he was not alone.

Káta's eyes widened at the words. She was not sure whether they were really meant for her, or whether the new preoccupation that had seated itself in Loki's face had led to an unintended opening of his guarded inner soul; for she _was_ sure that he was hiding something – harbouring some long held grievance. There was something about his expression at times, a flicker of earnestness that was frightening to behold, for in those glimpses she saw a terrible depth of festering pain, and, much as she wished it was not true, they held an unequivocal truth – something in them resonated with something inside her heart, and she knew that in those moments she had been granted a privileged glimpse through the windows of Loki's eyes into his soul. It was a frightening sight, what she had seen, for it appeared that beneath his arrogant callous exterior there was a small child in torment; trapped in the darkness of things she didn't know – for what she had seen of his soul was a desolate wasteland of grief and bitterness, barren of any bright spark of hope or joy, grey and ravaged – eaten up with confusion and pain. She frowned, curiously gazing up into Loki's face, studying it carefully. She saw the change in his eyes; the sudden distance in them, and again, the incredible vulnerability of a punished child that has lost its way. Could it be that his confident self-assured exterior, the ego and the self-importance, were all a façade? A cleverly constructed protection from whatever it was that had created the cheerless desolation that lay inside his heart?

"And yet…" Káta's soft voice broke through the mists of Loki's troubles like the first beam of morning sunlight slicing through a valley shrouded in shadows; gentle and without judgement. It drew him out like a kindly hand leading the way out of darkness. He looked down into her eyes, his own unguarded and soulful, capturing her kind warm gaze with an almost desperate force. "There's something in your eyes," she murmured gently, shedding her awareness of the situation in her entrancement with his eyes and what they contained, her voice musing, "when you don't think anyone is looking, or when you are caught off guard and hurt – just before the anger. A breaking of your armour; and the merest glimmer of what you really feel." Loki's eyes widened in astonishment; no one had ever broken through his defences before – he had had years of honing them until they formed an impenetrable shield; not only his eyes, but his expressions and body language – none of his family had ever been able to read him correctly once he had erected such protection about himself, and yet this nymph noticed when his guard slipped – she noticed when he hadn't.

"What do you see?" He asked, despite himself, his voice the faintest trembling whisper.

Káta frowned, her eyes at once pensive and pitying. "I see your pain…betrayal…suffering…neglect…confusion…and a burning desire to be recognised…and," she paused, a trace of confused compassion lighting her remarkable eyes before she glanced away, breaking the fierce hold Loki's eyes had held on hers. He faltered, shocked by her abrupt stop and burning with a fierce desire to see again the unconditional compassion that had glimmered in her eyes that he had never seen directed at him in his life until that moment.

"And?" He asked, his voice urgent, his hands finding her arms once more and grasping them. Káta remained gazing at the floor between them for a few long moments. When at last she looked back up there was an expression in her eyes that was almost apologetic.

"I see your hate – for others, and…for yourself." She continued to hold his gaze, her eyes fixed on his own, long after he had broken it. At her words he had released his grip on her, as if repelled.

The walls he had so carefully constructed to protect himself from being read; it was as if they had never existed. Her gaze pierced the heart of his soul, drawing forth all that he kept there, and those few things that he had tried to hide from himself by burying them in the deepest and darkest recesses of his wounded spirit. He felt laid bare, vulnerable; and was shocked by it.

Loki let out a laugh. It was unusually harsh, raked over the bared wreck of his soul, but as disdainfully amused as it had ever been when summoned from the depths of his hurt – a form of protection that had often shielded him well in the past, in those few moments when he had been most helpless, and closest to losing the fierce control he maintained over himself when his whole being threatened to shatter. "How _amusing_." He said condescendingly, quickly regaining his composure.

The colour drained from Káta's face, her expression frozen in a mask of shock and hurt. "What do you mean?" She asked, the stunned words falling from numb lips.

"That you thought you could read me; let me tell you – no one has ever done that, my dear." As the composure drained out of Káta, Loki's swelled, masking his shock. The surprise that she had given him was unpleasant, and his roiling emotions came out in the form of the protective default that had been set by Odin's undue browbeating of Loki when he was only a child; scathing with an intent to distress.

The first time Fróði had witnessed the reaction was when the Thor and Loki had been only young boys, and he had been asked to tutor them about the library at Frigg's request. Thor had held no inclination for such learning, although Loki had been fascinated. Fróði had accompanied them to their father that afternoon, and although Loki had given a much more detailed and interested report than his brother, Odin had ignored it, instead reprimanding him for mistakes he had made earlier in the day when on the training field. Loki had borne the barrage of criticism with a great deal more stoicism and acceptance than a child of twelve could be expected to display, and afterwards Fróði had attempted to comfort him, offering a kindly word, concerned at the young prince's unresponsiveness. Loki, however, had turned on him, releasing a pent up torrent of confused anger in a manner that Fróði ever after likened to that of a wounded animal lashing out at the hand that tried to help it. Loki had, of course, made a tearful amends afterwards, not that Fróði had at all blamed him for the outburst; the habit, however, had been set.

Káta's face crumpled with injury and insult. How was it possible that the man that now stood before her, so coolly insulting her without a thought for what his words were doing to her – seeming to take pleasure from the distress that he was causing her – was the same one that had gazed at her with such desperate vulnerability mere moments before that she had felt she had no choice but to speak the truth of what she had seen in his deepest soul? When she had spoken with the only thought of helping him, perhaps, stupidly, with the thought of trying to rescue him from the frightening abyss that she had seen within him, and yet he now threw her words back in her face. "I am _not_ your 'dear'." She spat. Káta quickly cast off the hurt, shelving it for a later time when she was alone; anger came to her aid. This was Loki she was talking to. _Loki_. The Trickster God; the God of Lies; all of this had been a lie – a sham. He was doing what he did best, what everyone said he did; he was just out to hurt as many people as possible. He had some sort of twisted sadistic form of humour. He just wanted to see how much he could hurt people. A supreme actor; that was for sure – he had actually made her believe that there was something else to him, something beyond the arrogance and ego, something beyond the trickery that his reputation was formed upon – something vulnerable and wounded that needed her help; how could she be so stupid as to believe him!

Loki saw, not without some regret, the patchwork of emotions that flitted across Káta's face. She was someone he wanted to know; someone he felt he could talk to in the way he talked to Fróði; someone who he wanted to know what he was _really_ like, who he _really_ was – not the mask he had to keep on for others. But he had hurt her, he could see, and he had no idea of how he could make amends – to apologise went so firmly against the grain that it did not even occur to him. She was withdrawing from him; the earnest caring that she had revealed, that tasted so sweet and that he so craved, was hidden behind her angry eyes, and the defiant tilt of her chin.

There was nothing for him to do but carry on in the same manner; he knew that if his temperament changed again she would think it was all a ploy. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about that." He replied, smirking even as he loathed the words that left his mouth.

"Well I _am_; and I will never – _never_ – be your 'dear'." Káta was livid. She would have liked nothing better than to hit him, but knew that such a paltry attempt would only make him laugh at her even more. She let her loathing for him infuse her expression and words. "You know, I thought there was something more to you – some goodness, perhaps –; but I can see that I was wrong. You're just as manipulative as any of them. You're probably the worst of the whole bunch!" She continued on, hardly aware of what she was saying in her anger – not noticing that she had begun to talk about things that troubled her, that he could not possibly be aware of. "At least the others actually have motives – petty ones, yes, but even spiteful jealousy is better than hurting people for the pleasure of it! That's just _evil_. Can't you see what you are?" She glared at him furiously, her eyes blazing with hurt and rage.

The flash of hate that coloured her features struck Loki to the core, the undisguised venom of her tone was like a swipe across the face, and but for the stern control he was exerting over himself he would have sagged against the bookcase to his left at such a blow.

"Well," he said with a blasé tilt of the head, although unable to muster a smirk, "I _am_ the god of mischief, you know."

Káta's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to make an angry retort, but was interrupted by a booming shout.

"Loki! By the Nine Worlds, I've found you at last! I've been wandering around this blasted library for Odin knows how long trying to find you!" At the sound of Thor's voice, Loki froze, his mouth drawn in a silent snarl, rolling his eyes before he moved away from the still furious, if bemused, Káta to peer around the end of the shelf they were standing at to see his brother walking up the next aisle towards him, arms open.

Thor had, indeed, spent a great deal of his time wandering around the library, becoming lost so many times that he no longer remembered where the exit was. It was quite by chance that he spotted the corner of his brother's green cloak curving around the corner of a bookshelf, and had called out in his joy at finding him.

The brother's meeting was stalled, however, by the appearance of a livid Berghildr behind Thor. At the sound of her furious voice Thor turned a bemused countenance upon her, and listened for a few moments as she ranted on about the prohibition of shouting in the library, regardless of his status, and didn't he know the rules, and what was it with all the gods deciding to come into the library and shout, and wouldn't he see if she didn't speak to the Allfather about it. Thor's puzzlement was of a short duration and a slight frown came to his face as Berghildr carried on.

When at last it appeared that she had no intention of stopping, Thor – who had had quite enough shouting – bellowed back, "CEASE THIS, WOMAN – OR WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT SHOUTING IS REALLY LIKE?!" The force of his voice was such that the entire library reverberated with its echo, and the very shelves seemed to tremble.

There was a resounding silence. For once, it appeared that Berghildr had met her match, and, sour faced, she marched away with as much dignity as she could muster. Thor turned back to his wide-eyed brother, cracked his neck, and marched up to him, smiling broadly once more; evidently very pleased with himself.

He rounded the end of the bookcase and clapped his brother jovially on the back with a hearty hand, not noticing the presence of Káta. Loki, unprepared for his brother's welcome, was sent sprawling bodily into the equally surprised Káta. Instinctively, he flung his arms about her, enclosing her in their protective cage as they fell, and taking the brunt of the fall, rather painfully, on one elbow. They lay on the floor for a moment, hopelessly entangled. Káta had automatically grasped the front of Loki's clothing as they fell, her previous fury temporarily obliterated on a wave of shock and anxiety, unable to restrain a squeak of nervous surprise and fear. Loki couldn't help but give her a roguish grin, encased as she was in his arms and clinging to him.

The moment they realised their position – for Loki was lying in a rather compromising manner over Káta –, they quickly untangled themselves with some awkwardness, pulled to their feet by the helpful, if forceful, hands of Thor.

"My apologies, lady," Thor said with a slight bow once all three were on their feet once more, his blue eyes twinkling as they moved between Káta and his brother – thoughts of his mission foremost in his mind –, "and to you too, brother; I did not realise I was interrupting something."

Thor's sudden bout of impeccable manners was a distinct shock to Loki, but he could not help it as his grin widened even more at his brother's words, for once pleased with him. Káta's previous fury, however, as well as a little mortification, returned to her face, and her eyes widened with indignant shock at Thor's assumption. She dropped a short curtsey, "I assure you, you most certainly were _not_ interrupting anything, my prince," she replied with as much civility as she could muster, ignoring Loki's infuriatingly gleeful expression. She bowed once more, then turned on her heel and left with as much speed as she could whilst still maintaining her dignity.

Thor and Loki watched her leave, their faces both amused – although for quite different reasons, and Loki's a little speculative.

As Thor marched Loki out of the library (putting Káta's hasty departure down to feminine coyness) commenting on how weedy he was looking, Loki found himself thinking that Kvasir was actually right, and that perhaps a visit to the nymphs might be all right after all.


	7. Ch 6: The Masks of an Actor

_~Chapter Six~__ The Masks of an Actor_

Káta stormed back to Mærsalr in a frightful temper. Her face was dark, and none who came across her path dared look at her, let alone speak to her. She flung up the eight staircases to her room, brushing aside the other nymphs that were at first indignant, and then fearful when confronted with her forbidding expression. When at last she was in her room, and had slammed the door behind her, she threw herself onto her bed, clasping a pillow to her chest, her hands gripping it tightly. It was soothingly dark and wonderfully cool; for the wooden shutters over her windows were drawn to, the drapes let down to cover them, and she had become unpleasantly warm in her anger and haste, errant strands and wisps of her hair clinging to her damp forehead.

She was too angry to be worried that her behaviour towards Loki, prince as he was – warranted or not – might result in serious ramifications for herself. He had behaved in an abominable manner; teasing and tormenting her with no reason save his own amusement at her discomfort and hurt. _What sort of person was so messed up that they enjoyed hurting others, and watching them suffer? _Káta wondered, sickened. _How did they even end up like that, for Odin's sake?! _To go to the extent of drawing their victim's sympathies out with a false persona, and then cruelly smash the person their victim had felt sorry for, and reveal a person so radically different that it seemed impossible that the two – even if one was a fake – could exist in a single body._ Who _did_ that?!_ And she had_ fallen_ for it!

Káta muttered furiously to herself, her words muffled into the pillow, cursing Loki and cursing her own folly. She snorted, her fingers biting into the pillow. She hated the fact that he had actually taken her in; had been such a good actor that he could make even his _eyes_ – those incredibly green eyes, _No_, Káta told herself furiously, thumping the pillow, _don't think about that. Don't think about how honestly sad and alone they looked. Don't think about the hurt that seemed so real in them. Don't think about how wonderful they would look if he had just one genuine smile. Just don't._ She grasped her anger once more, determined not to let her mind dwell on the side of Loki, false as she was sure it was, that wrung her heart for its compassion. She had been so _sure_ that what she had seen was the truth; a well hidden, deep and unsettling truth that was chilling to behold, and yet the truth all the same. It had stilled her heart, seeing the wounds (_False wounds, remember Káta,_ she told herself sternly, _false wounds…and yet wounds all the same_, the persistent little voice reminded her) that Loki had hidden – not only away from others, she felt, but also from himself.

Káta shook her head angrily. _Don't think about that!_ She thought crossly. _Don't let him get to you again! It's all just lies and tricks. He's an expert at this; don't fall for it again, you silly fool! Don't think that you're supposed to help people! Don't think you can mother everyone out there! He saw what you're like and he played on it! It's your own silly fault for being this way._

She hated him for it. That he had been able to see how she was, and use it against her in a way that tore her apart and dealt a heavy blow to her heart. She was sure he had seen it; the fact that all her life she had an unrestrainable compunction to help those that seemed lost or sad, and the pity that filled her when she saw them in such desperate conditions. It had come out, uncontrollably, when she had first spoken to him; the extremity of his thinness – the sickness that radiated from his very being – had drawn verbal aid from her, and had he not been a god and Prince of Asgard she would have insisted that he ate while she watched him, and stayed by his side until he slept. _Don't be stupid, Káta – that was probably a trick as well; some part of his magic. Everyone says he can change his form; he was just leading you on, you senseless idiot._ She recoiled from the thought; she had thought he had opened himself to her, and in return she had opened herself to him. The extremity of his vulnerability had gutted her, and she had let down her own barriers in a manner of trust and honesty that she might help him; and it had all just been a ploy. It had been quite a while since she had had cause to do so, for in living at Mærsalr she had met fewer people that needed emotional untangling, and had soon learned that even when some of the nymphs were afflicted in such a manner, it was better to leave them alone.

She had been burned countless times in her first year or so, when she had taken pity on those nymphs that needed it, and helped them as best she could, only to be repaid with ingratitude and insults once they were restored to their former vindictive brilliance. It had been hard, curbing her natural inclination to help, having to put up with watching and worrying, and not doing anything. It had been harder still to protect herself from them, shaping her wit and keen intelligence into barriers that she had never had need for in all her prior decades, for although she had learned playful mischief as a child, it had been in innocence. Káta had been wholly unspoiled until she was finally thrust out from the sanctuary of her mother's protected orchards, and learning the ways of the world and others had been a rough and fast learning journey which she had not always escaped from unscathed; there had been a great deal for her to catch up on and in very little time. At times her resolve had crumbled, and unable to harden her heart she had helped the stricken nymphs, but the result had always been the same – not that she had expected it to be any different; the nymphs were unchangeable in their manner and behaviour – but she could never help but hope, just for a few moments, that they might at least be in some way kinder, or better. Loki had been the first person she had tried to help in a long time; and now this – it was even worse than with the nymphs. She still hadn't learned, and she had no one to blame for the result but herself. Tempting as it was to blame Loki, she knew that it had been his apparent complexity that had drawn her out; he had appeared as unlike the nymphs as she was. But she had been wrong. It was merely a mask; a brilliant one, but a mask all the same.

Loki had been a consummate actor, she decided. Pretend to be arrogant at first, and then vulnerable, and then reveal the heart-shattering truth of his character. Who would think up such a thing, let alone do it? Káta pummelled her pillow, trying to siphon off some of the fury that bubbled inside her. It frustrated her that she hadn't been able to tell that he was acting. Usually she found reading people easy, discerning their motives and thoughts was relatively simple. But Loki had been complex; even beyond the many veneers of his acting – there was something deeper that she felt (although she was no longer sure) couldn't be feigned; a confused jumble of competing emotions and thoughts and values that were often incompatible. His thoughts had been discordant. It had made her momentarily uneasy, but she had brushed it off, sure that she was merely out of practice, given the simplicity of the company she now kept – for often knowing one nymph's mind meant knowing all.

What was she thinking? She was trying to make excuses for him again; trying to read him when already she had got so much wrong! Probably, this confusion was another layer to his acting; it had to be. What a glorious sham! And yet she _should_ have expected it; he was the God of Mischief! The Trickster God! The God of _Lies_! How could she have been such a stupid fool to think that he, a god, might actually have _troubles_? Troubles that she thought she had been _privileged_ to see and notice, troubles that she thought she could have helped him with. Gods _didn't_ have troubles, not major ones; they had feuds and disagreements to be sure, but they didn't get emotionally knotted – it just didn't happen; why should it, after all? They were _Gods_. Káta hit her palm against her forehead repeatedly, furious with herself as much as Loki, trying to knock some sense into her head, and to knock out the silly notions that she had felt. She was just a romantic, mothering idiot; imagining things. She felt like kicking herself. Caught up in an unpleasant whirlpool of emotions, she thrust her face into her pillow and screamed. Eventually, her voice died away, hoarse and ragged, and an overwhelming sense of self-pity took over, washing out her anger, and settling in her heart instead.

Why had her mother thought to send her here? The nymphs were, by and large, unpleasant; the gods that visited assumed that she was like all the other nymphs and treated her accordingly; and now this encounter with Loki. What was she supposed to learn here? What could she possibly achieve? She was being forced to pretend that she was something that she wasn't. She was being restricted on all sides; the freedom that she had become accustomed to before stripped of her. She could no longer be herself. She could no longer do what her heart drove her to do. She felt stifled and withered, and wanted nothing more than to return to her mother's orchards.

Her face still buried in the pillow, she cried, her sobs muffled.

Loki had nothing to do with these feelings. It was the deprivation of that which she had held dearest, and the replacement of it with something that was so heartbreakingly inadequate; something that shattered her previous reality with all the callousness of lightning striking an oak that was thousands of years old and setting it alight. Until several years previous, Káta had lived in her mother's orchards. Her mother was the goddess Iðunn; keeper of the youth rejuvenating golden apples that the gods and goddesses ate when they began to age. Her apple orchards were far from the city of Asgard, backed and flanked with forest that the apple trees gave way to, and were maze-like; easy to get lost in, and hard to get out of if you didn't know the way. Somewhere in the centre of the sprawling plantation, protected by their hundreds of ordinary fellows, was a special and hallowed grove of the rare trees on which pale gold apples grew. There, Káta had grown up; a child of the woods and glades, instinctively one with the trees that grew about her, and never falling prey to their protective changeability. Paths frequently changed of their own accord, and wanderers – accidental or otherwise – were fated to wait until Iðunn, her daughter or one of the apple tree's dryads found them and led them out.

Káta knew little of her father, for he had died before she was born, and her mother said only that she ought to be proud to be his daughter, and that it was in her own best interests not to know his identity, save that he was a dryad of immense power. Content with this information, although forever nigglingly curious, Káta had lived as she pleased; unconcerned at her mother's prolonged absences, learning what her mother taught her when she was about, bathing in the chirruping brook that wound its ever changing way through the orchards, and spending her time under the gentle care of the dryads, playing games, and learning to weave and nurture and sing, the sound of her voice charming the birds from the trees and the dryads leafy hair, and the touch of her feet on the grass leaving footprints of tiny flowers in her wake.

The golden apples took a full year to mature, and Káta had spent many days simply lying beneath the trees in the gentle golden light that the apples emitted, humming or singing softly to the plants, gazing up at the burnished fruit that always glowed with the pale gold of life, watching them grow slowly. As a child she had never thought to question why she too seemed to grow at an extraordinarily slow pace, for the aging and changes she underwent over the course of a year were approximate to the changes she would have borne witness to in a month, and as a young woman with the appearance of an seventeen year old (although she had actually seen the course of two hundred and four years) she thought it natural. She had certainly never thought to ask the dryads, for the tree-like female spirits were not kin to her race, and so differences between herself and them were not to be wondered at. It was not until she had come to Mærsalr three years later that she discovered such slow aging was not usual, even amongst the gods and goddesses. For the gods and goddesses to age such that their hair was white and their skin wrinkled the changes would generally span four hundred years; seeing in a year the change of three months. Thus it was not until Káta was sixty, although outwardly a child of five, that she began to witness the coming of the aged gods and goddesses to the orchards, brought by her mother, to eat the golden apples, for Káta had been born in the early ages of creation, before any of the Æsir had truly aged.

Due to her sheltered upbringing she had been too shy of them to make her presence known, watching them instead from the dappled shadows of the trees; a pair of curious golden eyes in an ever shifting dance of light and shade. She witnessed their rejuvenation countless times; watching hidden in the canopy of the trees or behind their trunks with wonder in her eyes, for as they ate the apples, they steadily glowed with a brighter and brighter gold as more of the apple passed their lips, and their years faded away; their skin tightening, their hair darkening and changing length, their postures straightening, their eyes becoming clear and bright once more, and their figures blooming out of emaciation into youthful strength, suppleness and beauty. By the time they had swallowed the last bite of the apple, they would be restored; beautiful and strong once more, and her mother would tell them that the golden glow of their skin would linger for a few days and then fade.

That too was another curiosity; and one that remained unanswered by her mother, for all her questions and imploring. For Káta had noticed when night drew in, or when she stood in the shadows, that she – like her mother – seemed to emit a pale golden glow permanently, the same glowing light as the apples, though she had never eaten one. It had not been until the arrival of the gods and goddesses, whose skin failed to gleam with the same faint aura of life until they ate the apples, that she was aware of it. Her mother was reluctant to give her details on such matters, and she had only heard the tale of her birth a few times; listening intently each time, and faithfully committing each detail to memory – aware that each telling might be the last. The information was sketchy at best, for all her mother would tell her was that her pregnancy was long, that she had to eat the golden apples during it, and that a little before she was born, Káta's father had died. Káta did not know why her mother shrouded her origins in such secrecy, but she loved and trusted her, and felt sure that there was a grave reason why she kept the details from her, and knew if she ever truly had cause to know, her mother would tell her.

Thinking of her mother and the orchards, Káta felt overtaken by a great wave of homesickness and hugged the pillow to herself even tighter, ignoring the damp patches her tears had created. She had not seen her mother these past three years or so – which would not have been unusual in itself, had she been home – but deprived of her familiar forested surroundings and her playful dryad companions, she felt the loss more keenly that she had ever done so in the past. She knew that her mother, when she was away, was occupied with one of two things; either searching for more of the special apple trees – for they were known to appear without pattern or reason, growing in the wilds of Asgard, although never in any of the other Nine Worlds – or residing in her halls within Valhalla; for as a goddess she possessed her own halls, and it was her duty to spend some of her time there. Idly Káta wondered where in Valhalla her mother's halls might be; surely if she went there and told them who she was someone would take her to her mother's halls – a guard maybe, or a serving man or handmaiden – although, as far as she knew, no one knew that she was Iðunn's daughter, and so stating that she was might not help her at all; that was something her mother had made her promise to keep, not exactly secret, but private at least, and out of common knowledge before she had left for Mærsalr.

Káta began to give the matter more serious consideration, her tears fading as she began to consider her options. She had never been to Valhalla before, although she had, of course seen it. Five leagues from outskirts of the city of Asgard a traveller could see Valhalla; for the immense hall rose high above the city in its very centre on a great stone tor that was covered with vines and plants, the stone plateau of which the building took its roots from, the burnished gold dome of the building shining like a beacon across the city. From such a distance however, it was little more than a gleaming gold spot; for the city itself was as grand in scale as Valhalla – laid out in a decadently palatial manner –spreading out in an even circle, the buildings uncramped and spacious, and frequently interspersed with gardens and water features. On an unhurried foot it took a good six hours from any of the nine gates into the city to reach the tor of Valhalla. Not all buildings were grand or sumptuous, but the very architecture spoke of strength and magnificence; a true city for the gods.

Once within the city, the dome was no longer as visible, but before the ancient gate Valgrind – the main entrance to Valhalla which faced north out towards the Bifröst – the golden tree, Glasir, whose leaves were of red gold, and bark of yellow, its gleaming roots growing out of a pool of white gold in the stone of the tor, caught the sunlight at all hours of the day, and shone with such brilliance that it was nigh on impossible to look at, and in the sunset, appeared aflame. The thousands of rooms and halls of Valhalla were carved from the living rock of the tor, the immense work of three generations of master stone masons, and the walls and pillars inside were lined with panels of fine wood – some carved and some plain –, the grander rooms rumoured to have walls and ceilings inlaid with gemstones and rare metals. Many of the buildings of the city were built atop and set into the sides of smaller tors and pillars of stone, although none rose as high as the tor of Valhalla, which was said to be so tall that if a person stood atop the golden dome and reached up, their hand would pass through the dome of the sky, and up into the sea of space to touch a branch of the impossibly large world tree, the great ash; Yggdrasil. The common thought was that the stone and land the city was built upon was once a mountain, with the tor of Valhalla the mountain's heart, and the hall carved out of its peak, for all the other tors sloped down from Valhalla; their height decreasing the further they were from the centre. The only exceptions to this were the great carved statues that stood sentinel in pairs, one on either side of each of the nine gates that led into the city, and the guard towers that ringed the outer wall, for they were built, and not sculpted by nature.

From the nine gates, there were nine major causeways that divided the city; each leading up to Valhalla – wide stone paths that gave way to perfectly carved stone steps as the gradient steepened, the immense bridges supported by a series of vast stone arches that grew progressively larger, beneath which buildings were built. Each staircase and the arches that supported it were carved from a single giant wedge of stone that was itself the same stone of the tor of Valhalla, and the stone that the city was built upon. The beginning of each staircase was presided over by a pair of guards, save that of the ninth, which led to the Einherjar Stigr – the warrior's path – the wardens of which were Valkyries. Only the ninth gate, the Bifröst Gate, its staircase, and path, were aligned with a direct compass bearing; facing due north. The others spiralled out, appearing to segment the city into equal sections when viewed from above so that the causeways, the tor of Valhalla and the outer wall gave the appearance of a nine-spoked wagon wheel. Apart from the Bifröst Gate, all opened out to various areas of the surrounding land, and were used for general traffic in and out of the city, and all were named for the place they gave out onto, or, more commonly, the nearby portals that led to some of the other Nine Worlds. Clockwise from the Bifröst Gate they were known as; the Eastern Sentinel Gate, the Helheim Gate, the Gate of Marmora or the Sea Gate, the Álfheimr Gate, the Jötunheimr Gate, the Múspellsheimr Gate, the Gate of Ida, and the Western Sentinel Gate.

Mærsalr was located fairly close to the city walls; in the section between the Gate of Ida and the Múspellsheimr Gate, taking up a large lush area of land – for whilst the hall itself was large, it did not occupy all of the space it had, the majority occupied by a rolling series of gardens and lakes. The gardens were not for the sole usage of the nymphs, however, for their beauty was remarkable, and many walked in them merely for the pleasure of the sights.

Káta knew how to get to the causeway that led up to Valhalla from the Western Sentinel Gate, and even to the Einherjar Stigr – for at every sunset a procession of the new einherjar that Odin had chosen to join him in Valhalla marched up the path, led and flanked by Valkyries whether the group was one or many hundreds. Káta had watched the ceremony several times at first, fascinated at the sight of the honoured fallen warriors, and delighted by the scores of horns that all sounded as one to hail their arrival and their bravery – but she didn't rate her chances of getting past the guards (let alone a pair of Valkyries) very highly if there was no evidence save her own word that she was the daughter of Iðunn. Given the nymph's antics she wouldn't be surprised if many came to the gates with more and less evidence than she of their divine parentage; she had borne witness to the birth of many infant demi-gods and goddesses. She sighed. The whole plan was doomed to failure before she even set foot outside her room. She frowned angrily; annoyed that even in thought, she had been thwarted again – and this was just to see her mother!

Káta blinked and rolled over onto her back, her face still flushed. What was she thinking of? This was utterly ridiculous. She was better than this; _stronger_ than this! She was capable. She could deal with whatever fate dealt her. It was silly to think of going and complaining to her mother, and getting annoyed that she had been foiled in her plans of doing so. Hadn't she already managed to adapt to her new surroundings? Hadn't she learned without aid how to protect herself from the less amiable aspects of individuals? Her arms had relaxed, and she peeled the pillow away from her chest, making a face, for her body heat had transferred to it, and she felt sticky. The room, which had been so pleasantly cool, was now hot; the air close. Káta thought of bathing; but it she did not particularly relish the thought of sharing the communal bathing pool (aware from experience that it would be full of nymphs fighting for a place under the miniature waterfall that covered one wall to wash their hair) or the hot springs, regardless of the privacy they afforded; for both were in natural caverns that lay beneath the nymph's pavilion. With a little wriggle of delight, Káta thought of her well.

She leapt from her bed, darting out of her room and fairly flying down the corridor and sliding down the balustrade of the staircases before rushing out into the sunlight, her cares no longer burdens.


	8. Ch 7: Resolutions and Purpose

_~Chapter Seven~__ Resolutions and Purpose_

Loki had escaped Thor easily enough. The thunder god, having decided that he had successfully uncovered his brother's secret (given the evidence of his own eyes, and the fact that some very unsubtle questions coupled with Loki's natural reticence had led to the belief that his brother was keeping the identity of his nymph lover – or at least, the nymph that was the object of his affections – private in his usual secretive manner) had strode off to report to Frigg his success, leaving his brother with the vague excuse that he had a matter to attend to.

Loki's thoughts were too full of Káta to dwell on Thor's strange behaviour, and he was more pleased than bemused at his brother's abrupt departure when he had ostensibly been searching for him only moments before. He had fairly winged his way back to his rooms where he had flopped backwards onto his unmade bed (for, unlike several nights earlier in the week, he had actually slept in it the previous night, albeit fitfully, and then growled at the handmaiden that had come to tidy it, sending her scurrying away), arms out flung, grinning.

He had some vague concerns about Káta's annoyance with him, but he had shoved them and the matter of her pained expression to the back of his mind; for the moment, all he would let himself do was to bask in the thought of her. _Káta._

She had been so fierce. So fearless. Exuberant in her anger and unrestrained; her emotions somehow wild and untamed like a rocky wilderness – as if she had never known or needed restraint. There was a freshness about her. A little tamped down, perhaps, but eager to be released, and he had seen it – _felt_ it in the dynamism of her expressions and the tones of her voice; flourishing in its release like a songbird escaping its cage and singing its joy to the clear free heavens. She was like all the seasons rolled into one and personified, all of them jostling below the surface and flying out in her emotions with hectic vigour; uncontrolled and irrepressible.

Loki found himself breathing deeply, his head giddy, taken away from the grey staleness of his own emotions and transported into a new world full of colour and vitality, brought about by this singly remarkable nymph. His own body seemed a dull shell that he didn't want to return to, whilst hers was alight with a keen energy and passionately sparkling; drawing him on, exhorting him to be the same. He felt as if he had been dead all his life, but she; _she_ was _alive_. Filled with a passion for living that he himself had never felt until now – like wildfire in his veins instead of blood; a reckless, joyful abandon – making the most of every month given so that the time that passed could have been filled with the doings of a year. It was as if she contained some bright spark of fire; a drop of distilled life in her veins – she had even seemed to glow slightly, a luminous salubrious gold that came from her flawless pale skin the way light came from the sun.

The mere thought of her vivacity made his heart quicken, beating fit to burst with its own life. It was as if she had unlocked something in him; her own carefree spirit fecklessly throwing out sparks of burning exuberance that had leapt into his own bleak soul and lit the dying embers that lay in his cooling heart, warming him from the inside, the faint flicker becoming a flare that dared defiance at the shrinking cold wasteland. He felt a delicious vigour returning to his limbs, sparks flying in his mind, the warmth spreading out from his heart to fill his entire body, casting off the shroud-like languor that had wrapped him for the past weeks like a snake shedding its old skin. He felt positively buoyant; thoughts of new and more elaborate tricks conjured in his mind, and yet the excitement they brought was nothing to her.

He wondered at her parentage; surely such a creature could not be born a nymph, they were too shallow, it was an impossible thought for an individual of such undoubted character to purely be a nymph – she _had_ to be of mixed race. She carried herself with more innate self-worth than many of the goddesses of Valhalla, her posture perfect and yet relaxed. He was sure that she would be wonderful to play tricks with. Kvasir was all right as a listener, or for a prod, but Káta he was sure would be as alive as he was when confronted with the idea of mischief. She was so unusual; as much an oddity amongst her fellows as he.

Loki flexed his fingers and glanced down at them, revelling in the thought that he had held her – had touched her, and yet wondering why he hadn't thought of it – _basked_ in it, at the time. True his head had been reeling at her stillness; that she hadn't tried to fight him, or break free from his touch – especially given his current aspect. Absently he snapped his fingers, reminded of his physical state and the advice she had so instinctively given him, summoning a light platter of food from the kitchens and eating it abstractedly as he thought. He had grown to think that there must be something unpleasant about the touch of his skin – or perhaps something alarming about its coolness –, for in the past, regardless of whether it was in jest or in aid, those he had touched had always recoiled, or at the very least their faces had filled with alarmed surprise. Only his mother had ever borne his touch without the slightest flinch or change of expression; Thor too, now that he thought of it, although that was probably because he had grown up with it. It had been sometime before he had realised that it was because of what he was. It had been when he was a great deal younger, still a child, and he had tried to help a handmaiden with a tray she was carrying. The touch of his hand on her arm had been enough for her to drop the tray with a shriek and stare at him with fearful eyes. His own alarm and confusion had been overwhelming, and in his desperation to discover why she and others acted that way he had grasped her arm, ignoring her expression, and pleaded for an answer. She had seemed surprised through her disgust and fear, and had replied to him, perhaps out of shock. He had carried her words with him for many years. _Don't you know?_ He had shaken his head. _It's because of what you are; you're –_ his mother had arrived then, however, and whisked him away. But the damage had been done. He knew that they reviled him because of what he was to become; the God of Lies and Mischief. The god that all others hated for his trickery – thoughts of it being unfair to despise a person because of their nature, because of what they were born to be, had never checked their dislike.

He frowned and shook his head, determined not to think of such depressing things when there was something as wonderful as Káta to occupy his thoughts. He paused in his eating as his mind was overrun with her. He remembered the faint scent of her skin; a trace of which he had caught when he had whispered in her ear, so close to touching her. He thought for a moment, frowning; the smell was familiar, although the particular warmth that she had leant it was not.

_Apples._ She smelled like apples; sharp and yet sweet, with the faintest hint of a tang. A gentle smile spread Loki's features; it was similar to her personality, although he thought it probable that her disposition had a little more spice. There was a lot about her that reminded him of apples; her hair was a dark brown with a golden sheen like dried apple pips, the shape of her face and round cheeks, and the blush that had suffused them the same pink rosiness of winter apples.

Smiling faintly, Loki thought of her eyes; so glowingly brilliant, such an incredible colour. The dauntless vivacity of them made his blood rush as though driven by a waterfall, not his rapidly beating heart; so ferociously bright in her anger, and yet also capable of uncommon kindness. It was an expression he yearned to see again; every fibre and particle of his being strained with the fierce desire to see and feel such a gaze once more. But that was impossible; he had ruined his chances of that happening. His thoughts clouded over once more, and he exhaled angrily, no longer lying, but sitting, his hands gripping each other fiercely, shaking slightly. Now that he had thought of it, he couldn't get the sight of her eyes out of his mind; the very moment of betrayal – the musing earnestness and kindness clouding over with confusion that swiftly changed to shocked alarm, and finally, the emotion that hurt him the most, that he was so familiar with: betrayed hurt. They were burned over his vision with such clarity that she could have been standing before him.

_And yet what had I betrayed?_ He wondered. He knew he _had_ betrayed her; it was an expression he had felt on his own face too often to not recognise it, and yet the reason escaped him. He thought back to the way she had looked at him before that; her expression full of such earnestness and trust – unequivocally given to him, just as she had given him her kindness so unreservedly. Still he wondered, unsure and unused to considering the feelings of others. Odin had always cut him deepest when he had been off guard, when his barriers had lapsed; it had been worse when he was younger – still learning how to harden his heart, and protect himself with a shield of feigned indifference. Had he done that to her – struck her when she was not expecting it; when she was unprotected? Loki frowned, conflicted. He did not think that most people had cause for such barriers as he did. He was sure that such a person as Káta had never been subjected to such criticism and disappointment as he had received from Odin; she had too much of a feeling of being loved – so why should she need such barriers? They were only there to deflect pain and harsh words. Loki sighed, unable to figure it out; consideration of other's feelings had never been his forte.

Regardless of his understanding, however, he regretted what he had said and done; the way he had reacted. He frowned slightly. Regret was something he was not very familiar with; it had been years since he had felt it – not as regarded his own actions and their effects. He probed his feelings, tentatively feeling his way around the awkward emotion. He didn't like the fact that he had hurt her. Anger flared within his breast, and his face was twisted in a grimace of loathing. He felt repulsed by his own actions, and hated them and himself. Thinking that it was instinct was no excuse – even if it had been a protective reaction –; he had known what he was doing, he had known that he was hurting her, and yet he hadn't tried to stop himself.

Loki's hands were clenching and unclenching, and his mouth was drawn in a silent snarl. Unable to contain his anger a moment longer he leapt to his feet, upending the tray of food with a great crash as it struck the floor the food flying in all directions. Ignoring the potentially lethal slick of food in his path, he strode over to the nearest wall and dealt it a fierce blow with his closed fist. There was a dull thud and a sickening crack. Loki regarded his mutilated knuckles dispassionately; the skin was laid bare to the bone, the cartilage and bones warped and splintered. The wound was smeared with blood, and it glistened darkly, running down in trails over his fingers and up his arm, mixing with the white dust that covered his skin. It was not the first time he had done this. The patch of stone he had struck was pitted and worn, slightly sunken from a lifetime of blows, and his strike had left several more faint dents; these slightly bloody. At first, when he was younger, he had merely kicked and beat ineffectually at the wall with his fists when frustrated or angry; it was a little while before he took to punching the stone, and a few years before he learnt to contain the howls of agony that had summoned wary handmaidens that had become horrified upon discovering the violence he had done to himself. His behaviour had given cause for irritating questions that he couldn't answer adequately (why was he doing it, was something wrong, did he want to talk about it?), and had led to a time when most of Valhalla thought him deranged or at the very least, mentally deficient.

He muttered a few sullen words and the horrific wound sealed itself up without a trace, the blood vanishing, leaving nothing but an echoing impression of pain in his mind. He sat on a chair, his head in his hands, ignoring the fading ache. _I will _not_ hurt her again,_ he vowed silently to himself; _even if father requested of me._ He frowned, staring at his boots, realising for the first time how precious Káta was to him, though he barely knew her. There had to be plenty who knew her better than he, and yet here he was, practically a stranger, and assigning himself as her guardian. A fierce surge of possessive protectiveness overtook him, and an unreasonable jealousy of those unknowns that were graced by knowing her; he would not tolerate any injury to her, he would protect her, even if it was from himself; he didn't want to think of her having such an expression, feeling such hurt as he had inflicted upon her earlier.

The best way to prevent that, logically, was to not see her again – ever; to forget her. Loki heard a little moan of pain and refusal; it was a few moments before he realised that it had escaped from his own mouth. No; forgetting her was impossible, he wasn't sure why, but he knew he could no more resist seeing her than stop his heart from beating – he didn't have the strength to relinquish her, and besides that, he had to protect her from others – that was an impossible task if he had exiled himself from her presence. There had to be another way; a simpler way – a way that was good.

He wondered at his thoughts. How could it be that he was so suddenly willing to do anything for this young woman? Selflessness had never been a strong characteristic of his; there was too much to lose by it – in this he was as much saving himself, as he was saving her, though he would have given his life for her sake and hers alone had it been required. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made him feel like this, like he had to protect her the way a loyal hound would unthinkingly sacrifice itself for its master. It was strange; this abrupt betrayal of indifference – the rich tapestry of convoluted feelings it created had to have a name, though he could not think what such a collection could be called. What was it that made you feel that your every breath was devoted to another, your heartstrings irrevocably binding you to them, the very thought of losing them creating a tortuous pain more wracking than any mortal wound, and the notion of their being with another bringing intolerable fury? Was it even possible for such a feeling to be named? How was it possible for such a feeling, that affected one physically so strongly, that was such an indescribable intermingling of tenderness and passion, jealousy and protectiveness, heartbreaking joy and soul-destroying misery, to have one mere word that described all it did?

Usually he would have fretted at such a deplorable gap in his knowledge, would have been concerned at the shocking lapse that his mind, usually so sharp and ready with answers, was having – the difficulty with which it was finding answers to his questions, but there was too much to think of; too many questions to solve, and the most pressing one was how he could safeguard Káta. To begin with, he knew, he had to start sleeping and eating again; he had to retrain his body back to – _exceeding_ – its prior fitness. But protecting her would be difficult if she hated him; if he could only protect her physically he was only doing half his job – he had to protect her on all fronts; emotional and physical. The question was how was he meant to do that?

_Make amends, _a little quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind, situated somewhere near where he had pushed his regret; it was a voice he hadn't heard since childhood – a voice that had prompted him to apologise, and that had comforted him in his confusion; it had not lasted very long, quashed eventually by the permanent anger that had come to inhabit him, but it had remained – small but determined. _Explain to her; she understood before – better than you – she'll understand again._ Loki blinked astonished. How in Valhalla was he supposed to do such a thing? _Win her trust back,_ the little voice murmured again; _you lost it when you hurt her, but her heart is generous; you know that – you felt it – you crave it now, her kindness and trust. You have to earn her forgiveness; you lost it once, don't let it slip away again._

Loki straightened in his chair, his face calm and, unusually, at peace. In his youth he had trusted the voice – a voice some would have called his conscience, and others hope – and it had caused him some self-sacrifice as he unbent his pride to follow its direction, but had also brought a warm glow to his heart.

Resolve glowed in his eyes, and in his heart, a flicker of hope had been rekindled.

Káta did not know whether any others knew of her well. It was hidden in a blanket of forest that cloaked the lower slopes of the mountains of Asgard, and whilst travelling there meant exiting the city through the Gate of Ida and riding a horse across the plain for which the gate was named, Káta revelled in the freedom of the wild gallop, and could feel her heart singing with longing for the welcoming dappled shadows of the forest.

She had not been at Mærsalr for more than a few months before she had begun to become restless with the circular daily routine, and was longing to explore further afield (for she had already scouted out the entire city, scouring it for its many gardens, which, while striking, were nothing to the wild untamed beauty of the wilderness and the forest). The mountains were a great deal further from the city than the forest, for it grew out from their stony foundations in a spit of green; a tongue of verdant foliage extending towards the city, and the forest itself was like a great living skirt for the mountains, the trees softening the transition of the land from the turf of the plain to the unforgiving stone of the mountainsides. It had not taken her long to become familiar with the routes and paths of the forest for they did not change the way her mother's orchards did, and before long she had come across the well. It was in a secluded glade that was also home to a sunny meadow of long soft grass and wildflowers, the edges sheltered by the great trees that towered about it. The well itself was on the edge of the tiny sward, surrounded by a thick spinney of trees that let through thin beams and keys of light onto the clear green water, and was more like a forest pool than a proper well; shallow to begin with before the ground dropped sharply away to a depth that Káta was yet to determine, although not for want of trying. It would have been an oval, or even a perfect circle, save for a single curved projection of clear turf. The projection made the pool bean-shaped, and was regularly illuminated by a circle of warm golden light. It was in this spot that Káta had left her most prized possession, and as such, the well and meadow had this special claim to her attention.

Prior to leaving the orchards, Iðunn had pressed a small leather drawstring pouch into her daughter's hand with the words, "Plant it when you find the right place; it will remind you of home." There had been no time for Káta to examine what was inside it before she had mounted her horse and rode out alone on her first ever journey away from the orchards, leaving her mother behind. That night she had opened it and tipped it up, a single apple seed falling out onto her palm. There had been no doubt in Káta's mind that it was the seed of a golden apple, and was glad that she had a piece of home to take with her. She had kept the pouch and the pip safe, tucked into the pleats of her heavy woollen riding skirt, taking it out every night of the week long trip to simply stare at the pip, which was the exact same shade of brown as her hair, and drawing strength from it as though it were a talisman. It had been confronting, entering the city for the first time, for although the city was spacious, it was full of more people and buildings than Káta had ever seen in her entire life. She had shyly asked for directions towards Mærsalr, one man eventually taking pity on her, and pointing her in the right direction. There she had been received and welcomed by Freyja, who presided over the nymphs, and taken up to her room. Her clothing and other possessions had arrived ahead of her, and she had been dismayed and affronted to discover their untidy state in her two modest chests, soon figuring out from the whispers and stifled giggles that the other nymphs had inspected them (not attempting to conceal the fact) and did not think much of her clothes, as they did with all new arrivals. After that she had kept the pouch on her at all times, until she discovered a secret little ledge in the frame of her bed beneath the mattress where she could tuck it, and rely on it being safe.

She had practically forgotten the pouch by the time she had discovered the well, but as soon as she had seen the little disc of fine turf, the soil dark and rich, she knew that was where the pip was to be planted. She had sung to the pip every day after planting it, floating in the water with her crossed arms resting before her on the bank of the projection, having remembered the dryads' teaching. It grew with startling rapidity, and soon there was a lovely little apple tree, its trunk slightly knotted and leaning towards the water, its branches low and spreading with the distinctive pale green leaves of the golden apple trees. The same year it had been planted, it bore a single perfect golden apple. Káta was wary of eating it, knowing its properties and the restriction her mother had imposed on her when in the orchards, and instead had plucked it and taken it back to her room, hidden in her sleeve. Her clothes chests lay empty and unused beneath her bed, for the room had several larger ones for her use and she had shifted her dresses into them. She had dragged one of the disused chests out and placed the glowing golden apple in it.

The casket was now home to four more apples; the sixth still growing slowly on the tree, and when the lid was opened the strength of the combined glow illuminated the entire room with a warm golden light. Káta had taken the precaution of covering the casket with a blanket, for if uncovered at night the golden glow was strong enough to shine through the fine hairline gap where the lid closed. The delicious smell of apples was harder to disguise, however, but Káta had always had a partiality to eating apples and that, coupled with the enticing fresh smell that wafted from her room, led only to the other nymphs adding the nickname of 'apple girl' to her. She would have liked to keep the apples in a carved eski like her mother's but such items were not easily found, and asking might lead to awkward questions and the eventual discovery of the apples.

Káta took in a deep breath of the clear air of the glade with its faint lacing of the apple's scent and smiled. This was to be the cure for all her downtrodden feelings, she decided; she didn't need to trouble her mother – she just had to come to the glade with its pool and her tree, and all would be well. She stripped off her dress with a little difficulty, for the soft fabric clung to her sweat-dampened skin, and waded into the water, delighting in its cool embrace. It was only a few moments before she reached out a dripping hand to the bank and grasped a fistful of her dress, pulling it into the water to scrub it clean.

After her cleaning exertions, and having wrung out her dress and spread it out in a sunny patch of grass to dry, Káta bobbed about in the water aimlessly, humming softly to herself, and wondering idly just what it was that had driven her mother to sending her into the city of Asgard. Until then her mother had appeared content with their arrangement, for her daughter to stay in her orchards and watch over the precious fruit with the dryads. Káta was not to know that her sudden transplanting was due to the influence of the Queen.

Iðunn had returned to Valhalla and the city after another search around the continent of Asgard for wild growing trees of the apples of youth. She had been startled to find Hlín waiting for her one morning, with a summons from Frigg. Wonderingly, Iðunn had followed the goddess to the Queen's hall where she witnessed one of Frigg's rare disclosures of her foresight. The Queen had strongly advised Iðunn to send her daughter to the city, and for her to stay with the nymphs in their hall, under the care of Freyja, though she was not strictly speaking one of them. Perplexed and concerned, Iðunn had asked why such a portent was so important as to be revealed and acted upon, anxious for her daughter's safety – for it was common knowledge that Frigg generally let the tapestry of fate weave itself, and intervention on her part always had to be warranted. Frigg had allayed her fears, stating merely that her dream had shown the coming of great happiness and peace to many if her daughter was to come to the city, and that if she didn't a terrible tragedy would befall Asgard. Iðunn had naturally wondered at such a prophecy, but had wisely followed Frigg's words, although still not knowing what it was her daughter was to do. She had refrained from mentioning the foretelling to Káta, aware that it might change the way the future might unfold, and not wishing to put pressure upon her. It had been with a heavy heart that she had farewelled her daughter, for she had kept Káta in the protective seclusion of the orchards not without reason.

Káta sighed. It was not in her nature to fret at a problem, and so she discarded the thought soon enough with little perturbation. She floated through the pools of light and shadow that mottled the water, and gazed up at the single golden apple, growing steadily on its branch. Time would tell. With patience, answers invariably came.


	9. Ch 8: A Favour and A Reassessment

_~Chapter Eight~__ A Favour and A Reassessment_

Káta did her best to forget the incident with Loki, after all, he was just another irritating god, and she had put the matter out of her mind within a few days. When she had first come to Mærsalr she would have had great difficulty in doing so, but she had learnt a great deal in the intervening years, and putting disappointments of such a nature behind her was one of them.

It was not until she had put Loki out of mind that Káta remembered her promise to Fróði. The moment she remembered she made the walk across the city, buzzing with curiosity as to what the head librarian could possibly wish to ask of her, although slightly concerned that she might run into Loki in the library once more. She had noted on previous visits that he was something a fixture of the library; nearly always to be found in his one corner. Káta pushed the matter to one side, however, sure that if she avoided his alcove she would not run into the unpleasant young god. Instead, she turned her mind to Fróði and his favour. His manner had been strange, she recalled; oddly preoccupied and deadly serious – there had even been a moment when she had thought he wasn't sure about asking her for the favour. It was a nigglingly mysterious business.

Upon entering the library he was at her side within seconds, wheezing a little. "You've come, good." He muttered, leading her past the silent shelves to the very back of the library. There he took her through a door she had never seen opened before, and into the room beyond which appeared to be something between a study and a sitting room. He settled her on a fur draped chair and sat himself in the chair opposite. "So," he said heavily after a long pause.

"So?" Asked Káta. Fróði gazed at her very hard for a few moments, then finally leant forwards in his chair, his hands knotting over themselves.

"What I ask of you, I do not ask lightly, Káta." Fróði began seriously. "I have deliberated long on the matter, and I think that I must ask you for help." Káta frowned, anxious.

"What is it, Fróði? Are you in some sort of trouble, or –?" Fróði waved a hand, gently silencing her.

"No, no; I come to you on another's behalf." Fróði frowned deeply once more, and then took a heavy breath. "I…have a young friend who needs your help. I know you are kind and understanding, and you seem able to talk a person's problem out of them – to tease out the tangle of their troubles. He needs this…badly; very badly. He does not know that I am asking this of you – I do not think he is even aware of the depth of his troubles himself." Fróði sighed sadly, and Káta frowned concernedly.

"I'll do whatever I can to help him," she said solemnly. Fróði smiled sadly, and took one of her hands in both of his, patting it gently.

"You have my thanks – but do not be too hasty in committing yourself to this. He has been troubled for a very long time – very nearly his entire life, in fact – and he is not one to welcome intrusion or help. He is not always over fond of _my_ taking a hand in his affairs – and I have known him since he was young. I have every expectation that it will be a difficult task, and it is likely that he will try and make it harder for you…" Fróði half-smiled dryly, "it is somewhat in his nature to do so – and he likes to be contrary."

"Who is he? I'll help him," Káta replied instantly; everything Fróði was telling her merely meant that her involvement was more crucial – she did not think that there was anything that Fróði could say that would make her say no.

"He is not well liked by most people, Káta," Fróði said warningly.

"I don't care," she said stubbornly, "you say he needs my help and I'll help him. Now, who is he?" Fróði gazed gently into her determinedly set face, and then smiled, almost apologetically.

"Prince Loki." Káta froze, her eyes wide with shock.

"Prince _Loki_?" She asked disbelievingly. "You want me to help _him_?" Fróði frowned slightly, but raised his hands calmingly.

"Káta he's not what you think he's like. The gods and goddesses just don't like him because of the way he behaves; they don't like being made fools of – he offends their pride, and he isn't fond of humouring people just to salve their injured pomposity. He's not like what they say he is. He isn't nasty, he isn't hideous; he's just misunderstood. I am surprised you have so easily followed the opinions of others in such a matter." Fróði was frowning slightly at her.

Káta leapt to her feet incredulously. "_Misunderstood_?" She cried, "Fróði he's fooled you just as much as me! He _tricks_ you into misunderstanding him! I met him here the other day, when we last saw each other." Fróði frowned, but did not interrupt. "He appeared behind me after Kvasir was thrown out." She clarified. "I didn't know who he was to begin with and I told him to eat and sleep because he looked so terrible, and then when I did recognise him he tried to blackmail me about my trick on Kvasir, but I didn't let him, and so he pretended to act like there was something more to him than this charismatic trickster. He's a brilliant actor, I'll admit that, to be able to appear as if he's hiding all this confusion and pain beneath the arrogance, and to let it through every now and then so you think you're seeing what's really inside – but Fróði!" Káta stamped her foot in her anger. "It's just an _act_! After I told him what I had seen he became completely horrible – he was worse than any of the nymphs could ever be! He _enjoys_ hurting people, Fróði – there's something wrong with him. I thought, perhaps, it was because he was hurt – I thought I had seen it in his eyes – and so he hurt others, but I was wrong. I've been wrong so many times about people since I came to Asgard, Fróði – and in Loki I was the most wrong of all."

The old god was staring up at Káta with wide eyes, his expression astounded. After a few moments his face split into a smile and be began to laugh. Káta frowned.

"Fróði?" She asked, cautiously. He grasped her hands with his, still laughing gently.

"Káta; that's _him_." He shook his head disbelievingly as Káta continued to stare at him in confusion. "You have a rare gift, Káta. I have known Loki since he was a child, and as he's grown older I have watched his barriers grow in an attempt to protect himself from Odin's wrath." Káta frowned, but Fróði forestalled her, raising a hand. "Loki has become…_accustomed_," Fróði spoke the word distastefully, "to concealing what he truly feels. He has been doing it for so long that not even his family are aware of it, and yet you – who have never met him before, who didn't run from him when you first met, who dared to be yourself and treat him to a lash of your tongue and disregard his Princely status; you saw through his barriers." Fróði leant back in his chair, grinning broadly. Káta, however, was still frowning, and seeing her thought knotted expression, Fróði leant forwards once more. "Káta; Loki hides his true self from everyone, all the time. He has become so used to concealing it that he no longer reveals it, and when he does it is to a very select few…in fact, I do not know of anyone else beyond myself that he speaks candidly with. But there is more to it than that; he doesn't even reveal the entirety of his true self to himself. Yet you managed to see it without any difficulty whatsoever, and for such a gap to be in his armour is dangerous for Loki – you wouldn't have simply given him a shock; you would have given him a severe fright…and when Loki is caught off guard he tends to lash out."

Káta took her seat once more, although her brow remained furrowed, albeit with a new confusion. "But why, Fróði? Why is it dangerous for him to reveal himself? What problem could a _god_ have that would drive him to behave like that?" Fróði's face became oddly contorted, and Káta was startled, for never in her entire acquaintance with him had she ever known the head librarian to become angry.

"Odin has never liked Loki." Fróði said tersely. "He has disliked him for as long as I know, and has always favoured Thor over Loki. He has always compared the two, and never in Loki's favour. It is for this reason that Loki is what he is; it is because of his…_father_…that he has to protect himself, and why who he really is and who he has become must be hidden." Káta's eyes widened with stunned surprise.

"But he's the Allfather – he's King of Asgard; how could he behave like that, especially to his own son?" She asked, shocked.

Fróði's bushy white eyebrows twitched and touch of his usual levity returned to his expression. "Even the wisest among us fall prey to our prejudices." He said softly with a sad little smile.

Káta frowned slightly, but did not take the old god up on the matter – there were other more pressing things on her mind, and she felt that he might have really directed the comment towards her. She was not usually subject to her prejudices, indeed she thought of herself as a fairly open minded person, but in this matter at least she knew she was acting on a bias, even if that bias was founded on Loki's behaviour. Slowly she stood, and began to pace back and forth, preoccupied in thought, and ruminating deeply. Fróði watched with silent patience, just as he had done so many times before with Loki.

At long last, Káta stopped before the head librarian, and while she was no longer frowning, her expression remained solemn. "I…can't – I don't –" she began haltingly, then sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a few moments and marshalling her thoughts. When she opened them once more they were clear and purposeful. "I will _try_ to help him, Fróði." She said firmly. "But I don't know how well I can like him…he –" she sat down abruptly, her eyes gentle and concerned, "he seemed so _different_ – he's made up of so many parts, and he's in such conflict – it was like anything could fly out at any moment, as if there was something inside him he didn't even know and couldn't control, and it seemed as though he _enjoyed_ hurting me. Are you sure that he will even _want_ to change?"

Fróði smiled gently. "All too often we become what we learn and are subject to – no one has ever tried to see Loki was anything but who and what they think he is; no one in his life has ever given him the chance to be good. He has been pulled and prodded into a shape that others made for him. You might be giving him that chance. I know that the kindness and trust I gave him as a child has led to his confiding and trusting in me." Káta nodded solemnly, although there was still an unsure glimmer in her eyes. Fróði knew what she was thinking. "He does want to change, Káta. You say you noticed the illness of his appearance?" Káta nodded slightly. "He has spent the past several weeks not eating, not sleeping, just brooding. I cannot profess to know exactly what it is that he is thinking on, but I do not think I would be wrong to say that he is struggling with the issue of who he is, who he wants to be, and who others see him to be. It is something he has never done before, and it is a task I fear will kill him if he does not have help." Fróði took her hands in his. "I said that I did not ask this of you lightly, and I do not wish you to undertake it lightly either; nor because you feel pressured to on my account. It is a matter that requires some deep consideration on your part – I had not reckoned on your having already met the Prince before I asked you. Think on it; that is all I ask." Káta returned Fróði's smile, and nodded.

As she exited the library she was still frowning, and her heart was heavy.

* * *

Several days passed by, during which Káta continued to agonise over the issue that lay before her. Her compassion urged her strongly to help Loki, regardless of his previous behaviour to her, but some small part of her remained concerned of what might happen, and pulled her back. Her only comfort was that she was not likely to see Loki anytime soon, and so her decision was unlikely to be forced upon her by his appearance.

The day was particularly fine. A light cooling breeze offset what would have otherwise been the oppressive heat of the sun. Káta had chosen one of her lighter summer dresses – the pale yellowy green of early spring leaves that lacked sleeves – and had felt such peaceful calmness and patience that morning that she had taken the time to actually put her hair up with some pale gold ribbons. Runá, upon seeing this at breakfast, had insisted on redoing Káta's hair into a much more elaborate style later in the day, the design of which she had just finished and wanted to try out – for Káta's hair seemed to have a peculiar propensity to be styled, though she generally lacked the patience for it. Káta was in no real position to refuse; not only because she was unoccupied for the whole day, but also because she enjoyed having her hair brushed and done – two things that Runá knew.

Thus they sat together by the central fountain in the nymph's pavilion, having raced each other there to grab the spot, as well as a couple of the larger cushions that one group of the other nymphs had a bad habit of monopolising (bolting their morning meal in order to do so). The other nymphs followed soon after, and the friends could tell from their sour expressions that they had done exactly what the others had wished to do. They could not help but giggle in their triumph – a fact that was not lost upon the nymphs they had bested, whose faces all perceptively darkened. A moment later their expressions had changed with more speed than the wind. There was only one explanation of such an abrupt alteration; some gods had arrived, and most likely comely ones at that.

Runá was intent upon her work, undoing Káta's previous careless handiwork, and combing out the crinkles and knots in her friend's hair, and so did not look up. Káta, however, whose only occupation was to keep her head still and sort out the flowers that were to be used in her hair, which Runá had heaped in her lap, glanced around over her shoulder, earning her a tutting reprimand from her friend.

Her face first drained and then flushed a multitude of emotions flittering across it between the colour changes, and it was in a frown of abstraction and faint alarm that she turned to face forwards once more, her hands no longer sorting the flowers.

Kvasir was striding along the main path that led to the pavilion – which was a circular wooden building without walls, the roof supported by a series of great carved pillars, in between which gauze and linen drapes fluttered. Loki sauntered at his side.

Concern washed through Káta. She had no idea what could have drawn Loki to Mærsalr – it couldn't be to continue irritating her, if indeed that was what he had been doing in the library, and she was sure that Fróði wouldn't have sent him down. She fretted for a few moments, then took hold of herself sternly. She knew Loki was friends with Kvasir, and although she had never seen him about Mærsalr before, it was the most natural thing in the Nine Worlds for him to come down with his friend; she was being as self-centred as the nymphs if she expected he, a major god, had come down just for her. Furious with herself for acting in such a silly manner she thrust her concern about Loki away from herself, and endeavoured to recover her previous good humour. It was not particularly difficult to do; the weather was so pleasant, and the gentle caress of the wind against her skin was so lovely, not to mention the tinglingly soothing sensation of having her hair brushed, that Káta soon found herself returned. With a smile she applied herself to sorting the flowers once more.

Loki felt his chest tighten as he glimpsed Káta through the rippling gauzy curtains of the pavilion. Although he was still a fair distance away, and though she sat with her back to him, partially obscured by her friend from the library, Loki could have recognised her anywhere. He kept his face sternly under control, however; firmly cutting off the impulse to smile in that way that only she could summon.

Kvasir, of course, knew nothing of his purpose in coming, although Loki had seen the smug satisfaction in the god's expression when he had visited him that morning saying that he would try a visit to the nymphs. He had been busy in the intervening time – eating and sleeping, and when he was not doing them; training furiously in the practice yard. His skin had lost its unhealthy pallor, and he had regained a good deal of the weight and muscle tone he had lost.

As the two gods drew nearer there was a flurry of moment in the pavilion, and a number of pretty faces appeared, peeking with mock shyness out from behind the columns at them, although it was obvious that they could not know the identity of those that approached. Loki wanted nothing better than to wrinkle his nose; such repulsively behaving creatures were often to be found in eyelash batting gaggles about Thor, releasing a never-ceasing stream of inane chatter that was of less significance that the buzz of a bee while his brother laughed, quaffed ale and mead like a horse did water, and flexed his muscles.

The nymph's behaviour drew Káta's attention, and she turned an inquiring, if jaundiced, glance over her shoulder, ignoring the giggling nymphs with the air of a person girding themself for an extended period of sickening tediousness. She raked them both up and down, frowning before recognition and surprise leapt into her face. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments before she turned back away.

Loki's heart was hammering unevenly in his chest, for as momentary as the glance had been, it had been enough for him to see and read the transformation in her expression. The vague questioning abruptly replaced with a frozen mask of surprise, dislike and alarm as she recognised him. It struck a cold heavy blow to his heart, but he did not falter. He had not been such a naïve fool as to expect her to receive and respond to his appearance with any degree of pleasure given his previous behaviour, but as it was, seeing her expression in the flesh – the naked emotion – was a great deal harder than merely coming to the conclusion that she would. Nevertheless, he continued onwards, and managed to summon a grin in response to the sidelong smug smirk that Kvasir sent him.

They reached the pavilion, and Kvasir strode through the fluttering drapes, instantly surrounded by a group of simpering nymphs, eyelashes fluttering, arch glances and coy smiles in play. "Kvasir! You haven't visited us in so long – we thought you had forgotten us!" "Did you bring any gifts for us? You said you would." "What do you think of my new dress?" "And my hair?" "I've been practicing my dancing, Kvasir; would you like to see?"

Kvasir laughed, his hands raised slightly to stem the flood of voices, "Now, now; of course I haven't forgotten you! How could I? And how could you think such a thing of me?"

As Kvasir continued his attentions, Loki had to look away; the sight was truly puerile, and one he was far too familiar with as regards Thor. As he turned, he glanced around for Káta and found her watching Kvasir and her fellow nymphs with an expression of blatant disgust; the very shape of which Loki felt on his own face. He grinned cheerfully. Káta seemed to sense his eyes on her and glanced his way just as he averted his eyes.

Káta stared thoughtfully at Loki. The grin on his face was different from his usual smirk. It was a good deal less arrogant and more light hearted, and on the whole suited him better. She felt her own mouth tug slightly in an instinctive response to his smile, but quickly reigned herself in; if she wasn't careful she would start going down the same path as last time. She had panicked a little to begin with when she had first seen Loki approaching, for she felt herself strongly bound by her promise to Fróði, though she had felt increasingly regretful of it. Now, however, she had pulled herself together, and there was a difference in Loki that sparked a little nibbling doubt at her convictions regarding his character.

Her curiosity awakened, she couldn't help but observe his appearance for a few moments more; he looked better than he had in the library – healthier; apparently the difference of a little over two weeks did a great deal of good. His face had filled out slightly so his cheeks, while still hollow, were no longer worryingly gaunt. His eyes had also lost the dangerous fanatic gleam, though they still burned with purpose and a longing hunger, albeit, Káta thought, a more positive one. The shadows that had hung so heavily beneath his eyes were no longer there, and his skin had lost its unhealthy pallor, and seemed smoother, more supple with a healthy fairness. Evidently he had been sleeping, and eating too, Káta thought, as her eyes wandered down over his body, taking in its new fullness, and the way his clothes no longer hung off him, but fitted nicely, if still a little loose in places.

Loki, seeming to feel her eyes upon him, turned once more to gaze at her as openly as she stared at him. Káta did not notice this for a few moments, her eyes fixed with some abstraction on his body. It was not until he tilted his head to one side that she caught the movement in her peripheral vision. As their eyes met, both questioning, Loki smiled faintly and Káta flushed, her expression suddenly mortified. Quickly, she turned away, her cheeks flaming, although her mind was alight with speculations. As she began passing Runá the flowers as she asked for them, Káta kept her eyes fixed down on her lap, and refused to look up to check whether Loki was still watching her, which, she felt sure he was.

Loki was indeed watching Káta, finding her as fascinating to watch as she had him. To begin with he couldn't help but glance at her every few moments, having expected her to look back over her shoulder to see what he was doing, and not wishing to be caught out. However, her decided application to her task and the fixed set of her head made him feel sure that she was too embarrassed at being caught staring at him to look again, and it emboldened him. He liked the combination the colour of her dress made with her skin and hair and eyes, and couldn't restrain himself from imagining her dressed in his colours. It was a delicious thought. He smiled again, much more broadly.

Loki was not to be left to his internal wanderings, however. Eventually Kvasir seemed to remember his presence, and turned, one arm wrapping around Loki's shoulders in a fatherly fashion as he roped Loki into the circle of his giggling and breathless admirers. The nymphs, who up until then had only paid Loki the smallest amount of attention (and that had been only to categorise him as ill-favoured, excessively pale, and too thin) now fell silent, the more intelligent ones wondering why Kvasir had brought such a creature with him, the less intelligent why they had been temporarily abandoned by Kvasir, and all how they could get out of having to accompany this skinny new individual.

"This is a young friend of mine, my dears," Kvasir said, "I very much hope you will make him feel welcome." He grinned.

Káta glanced up at the sound of Kvasir's voice, her curiosity getting the better of her once more. She noted the nymphs' expressions, which ranged from poorly disguised disgust to blatant distaste, frowning. The new softening of her heart towards Loki extended her pity towards him; she did not think he deserved to be made prey to the vices of the nymphs, regardless of what his true character was, whatever it might be. She knew all of the nymphs' expressions well, for often than not she was their main recipient, though she had long ago learnt to ignore them.

"Your name, kind stranger?" Asked Spana – a particularly vicious though attractive nymph Káta was unfortunately known to – though she spoke with a sweet civility Káta knew to be imposed on by Kvasir's presence.

"You don't know who he is?" Cried Kvasir with a little too much theatricality to be utterly sincere. "This is Prince Loki! Loki Odinsson!"

The nymph's faces became a rapid patchwork of emotions. All had heard the fearful tales of the Trickster God, and it showed in their expressions before being governed by the thought that flirting with, and perhaps bedding, a Prince of Asgard might do them no harm – particularly if he brought any of his brothers with him; specifically Thor. They all smiled prettily, coyly primping their curled hair and batting their lashes over seductive side glances. Spana and her two sisters, Lúta and Róta, who were the principle ringleaders of the nymphs and who disliked Káta the most, exchanged meaningful glances, an unpleasantly scheming light sparking in their cold beautiful eyes.

The damage was done, however, and Loki had expected little more than that which they had given. He knew exactly what had run through their minds, and was not prepared to be taken in by their suddenly inviting manner.

Káta frowned at Loki's lack of reactivity, and Fróði's request again came back to her. With a renewed interest she watched the interchange, expecting Loki to treat the nymphs to the same scorching personality she had had turned upon her. She was surprised, however, to see his head dip slightly, and though his back remained straight in perfect posture, his shoulders fell. She ached to see his expression, for from behind she read him to be a picture of expected desolation at the nymph's reactions. Perhaps Fróði was right after all. Up until that moment she had been struggling with her promise to give Loki a chance, and she had been wavering; but this had made up her mind for her. Now she thought that it might actually be worth her while, especially when she recalled the glimpses she had thought she had seen of Loki's soul.

Now she felt compelled towards him, if there was something there, inside Loki, as she thought there was, she felt bound to find it and help it to the surface.


	10. Ch 9: Gods and Nymphs

_~Chapter Nine~__ Gods and Nymphs_

"Let me introduce you, Prince Loki;" Kvasir said, taking Loki by the shoulders once more. The nymphs eagerly rearranged themselves, standing in attitudes that best displayed their chief attributes. "This is Grélaða," an invitingly pretty soft featured nymph with waving fawn brown hair in a pale orange kirtle dipped her head and smiled at Loki, "this is Sigríðr," a nymph who looked uncannily like a Valkyrie in a gleaming silver embroidered dress smiled a confident flashing smile accompanied by a wink of her dark challenging eyes. "Áfríðr," Kvasir gestured towards a rosy cheeked nymph with masses of curling red hair and sparkling blue eyes who smiled at Loki from beneath lowered lashes, "and finally; the famed Nipt Þrír – the Three Sisters." Kvasir presented three nymphs, all of whom were taller than those that had gone before, and had long flowing silvery gold hair. "This is Róta; she is the youngest," Kvasir gestured to the shortest of the three, whose gently waved tresses were pulled back from her face by an intricate gold net and whose slim form was clad in a sleek white kirtle, she smiled secretively at Loki, her dove grey eyes mysterious and coyly seducing. "This is Lúta; she is in the middle," the nymph next in height made a low curtsey to Loki, her pale gold dress pooling at her ankles, her distant grey eyes lowered between the curling wings of her shining hair that fell forwards, barely restrained by the pearl encrusted snood she wore. "And this, is Spana," Kvasir gestured towards the eldest nymph sister as a jeweller his finest gem. The nymph was the tallest yet, taller than Loki and Kvasir, she gazed down at the young Prince with eyes as grey as those of her sisters', although hers were harder, more calculating, and imperious. She wore a sweeping pale blue dress, and her perfectly straight hair was held in place by a thin circlet of finely woven bands of gold. She barely inclined her chin to Loki, her eyes locked on his, speaking the merest hint of enticing provocation.

"Done!" Exclaimed Runá triumphantly, standing up to view her handiwork. "Stand up, Káta." Loki, his inattentive attention diverted from the nymphs before him, turned to gaze upon Káta, who had acquiesced and unfolded herself, gracefully rising and turning as she did so in order to face her friend. Her hair was caught up in a series of ribbon entwined braids and plaits that twisted about each other and were coiled about themselves. The tiny flowers that were carefully threaded through the plaits stood out like coloured stars against the shining loops and coils of the rich night of her hair. Runá was beaming widely and clapped her hands slightly, "Spin again." She cried.

Káta obliged spinning and spinning, moving fast enough that her skirt flared out in a golden green fan like the upside down trumpet of a flower, and Runá in her delight at how well the style looked, took up the rest of the flowers and tossed them into the air above them.

As she slowed her turning, Káta glanced at Loki over her shoulder, curious and anxious to see how he was dealing with Spana and her followers. He was gazing at her, his lips slightly parted, looking as a human might if one of the gods materialised visible in their midst. Káta stopped, and smiled at him through the twisting rain of flower petals. As Runá had worked on her hair Káta had decided that the best way to help Loki was to become his friend, and showing him kindnesses was the only way she knew to achieve it.

For his part, Loki's mind was sent spinning on its axis by the mere sight of the natural simplicity of her beauty, but the smile melted something in the region of his chest and released a warm glow from the same place. It was clear that whatever her expression when she had first seen him coming towards the pavilion, her attitude had changed dramatically since. Unselfconsciously, he smiled back, his eyes soft.

Káta's smile widened at the sight of Loki's; perhaps it would not be as difficult helping him as she had thought.

* * *

After that it became something of a routine for Loki to come down to Mærsalr either late in the morning or in the early afternoon, more often than not in the company of Kvasir. A spot was chosen within the circle of a small shady ash grove on the edge of a small lake, and Spana and her select group of nymphs would swarm about Kvasir and the prince, keen to entertain and plying them with goblets of rich mead and platters of fruit and honey cakes. Káta always contrived to be nearby somehow, whether she was by herself reading a book against a nearby tree, or accompanied by Runá, whose interest in Kvasir was a perfect excuse to be near Loki.

For his part, Loki had tired of the nymphs and their wiles very quickly. Their simpering smiles and eyelash batting glances held little pleasure for him for he had easily discerned the ulterior motive behind their agreeableness. Their tricks he found simple and petty, and generally were the same deception dressed up differently, and even their songs and dances were not to his taste. The nymphs all seemed to take their cues from Spana and her sisters, who were all too ready to laugh at other's misfortune with a somewhat sharp, vindictive tone in their tinkling giggles. They made excellent subjects upon whom to play tricks on, however, offering themselves up all too readily as fodder for his latest concoctions, seeking to please him, although there was always a slight glimmer of fear in their eyes as they did so, justly feeling wary of the hard gleam in his eyes. His mind at last lifted from its deadly preoccupation and fixated on the subject of Káta, Loki had returned to crafting his tricks to the extent that the gods and goddesses of Valhalla were having to get back into the broken routine of dodging and negating the habitual traps Loki left in place for them, and many were unpleasantly surprised by the sudden continuation of tricks that had ceased for weeks.

Loki also discovered within a few minutes that his wit and games of riddles were entirely lost upon the nymphs, for whilst they were cunning in the arts of seduction, diversions of wordplay and intellect were entirely beyond their understanding. However, Loki persevered for the reward of seeing the secret amused smile on Káta's face or the mouthed answer to a riddle, for it was soon clear that she listened attentively to the conversations that passed, despite appearing deeply immersed in whatever activity was her apparent occupation for the day. He enjoyed those moments, feeling as though they were sharing some secret joke or conversation, for he was yet to figure out how to move closer and become on speaking terms, still a little wary and unsure of himself. The memories Loki prized above all the rest, however, were those that occurred only when Runá was there, for then Káta would join the other nymphs with her (although judging by their expressions and behaviour, led by Spana and her sisters, Káta and her friend were a disliked quantity and the feeling was mutual), and Káta, goaded beyond restraint would burst out with the answer to a riddle that had been vexing the other nymphs for some time, or flick back his banter with an easy parry of verbal eloquence or sweetly acerbic wit that none of the others comprehended, but which Kvasir often applauded appreciatively.

Several times Kvasir decided to try his luck with the nymph – each time putting Loki's self-control through an extremely severe test. He did not need to worry, however, for Káta looked with as little favour on the God of Inspiration as she had the first time Loki had seen her in the library. With each encounter she displayed a little more of her wit and vivacity, and (that which Loki enjoyed the most) her fearless impudence and willingness to fight back without giving quarter in spiralling duels of jesting and serious intellect by turns. Kvasir, Loki very quickly discovered, had no serious designs on Káta beyond attempting to wind her around his finger the same way he had all the other nymphs, just as one might attempt to acquire the last trophy out of habit – for she was the only one to resist his charms – but enjoyed the verbal battles, even if it meant that his pride received some bruises. Indeed, it was soon apparent that Kvasir enjoyed goading the perspicacious nymph just as much as she enjoyed responding, although there were moments when Kvasir went too far and was sternly rebuffed, the punishment most often being ignored for several days.

In this Loki could see easily why there was a good deal of dislike felt by Spana and her fellows for Káta, for she could effortlessly command the undivided attention of gods such as Kvasir who thrived on wit and verbal repartee without any intention to do so, for she appeared to take part purely for her own pleasure, and not with any aim of amusing her partner. The others could do nothing but wait while they were shelved to one side until the discussion had finished, and they could reclaim Kvasir's attention. Furthermore, Káta did not always grant her participation, choosing to engage in the circumlocutions of the verbal maze offered her if she felt like it, rather than providing her attention on tap as the other nymphs did.

It was after the second occurrence of these bantering duels that Loki asked Kvasir to tell him more about the nymphs as they returned to Valhalla. The information Kvasir imparted on the other nymphs Loki largely dismissed due to a complete and utter lack of interest, although some small facts he did retain. When Kvasir came to Káta, however, his entire attention was focussed sharply on the god's words.

"Káta's a funny sort of a nymph," Kvasir commented as they walked leisurely up the smooth alabaster paved path. "In fact there are times when I'm not even sure if she _is_ a nymph." Loki's brows twitched with interest. "I mean," Kvasir continued in an explanatory manner, "most of the nymphs there aren't full blooded. In fact most of them are illegitimate demigoddesses – that's part of the reason why Spana, Lúta and Róta are so tall; they aren't of mixed parentage: pure nymphs – but Káta." Kvasir exhaled and frowned. Loki was internally pleased; evidently the topic of Káta was an excellent one to engage Kvasir in and a matter to which he had devoted some considerable deliberation. "She behaves utterly like any nymph I've ever met; she doesn't even look like them, and no one knows anything about her parentage." Loki frowned.

"So…what? She was an orphan?" He asked.

"No, no, no;" replied Kvasir fussily, a little irritated at having the flow of his thoughts disrupted, for his tone had taken on that of a person thinking aloud. "I'm sure Freyja knows _something_ but whenever I've asked her she's been irritatingly tight lipped about the matter – and as for Sjöfn," Kvasir snorted slightly, "Káta's never been enamoured of what she does in terms of encouraging the other nymphs, and so she has no interest in Káta."

"So where did she come from?" Loki asked, as confused as Kvasir.

"I don't know." Kvasir spoke the words with great reluctance. "She appeared at the Hall a little over three years ago. Freyja had obviously expected her arrival, and Káta hasn't told anyone about where she came from." Loki paused for a moment, his mind exploding with curiosity to discover the answer to his next question, but also full of apprehension.

"There are no gods that are in her confidence, then?" He asked unconcernedly.

Kvasir shook his head. "No. Ask any other nymph to tell you something and they'll speak any secret they know that you could wish for; but Káta doesn't. She won't share anything about herself, and she won't share what others tell her if it's a secret – she knows how to keep her word, and I don't think there is anything that will make her break it; that's another difference. When she first came she wasn't quite so sure of herself, though, and _far_ too trusting; she was less canny – you could see it in her eyes; astounded innocence – like she had never known anything the like of Asgard had ever existed. And of course, being naïve like that around the nymphs is never a good idea."

Loki snorted slightly – that was certainly an understatement. For disenchanted as he was with the nymphs, he had not been unobservant, and had soon identified the power plays going on amongst the nymphs, as well as recognising their manipulative talents. Kvasir spared him a passing glance, but did not pursue the matter.

"In the beginning there were times when she was like a caged wild bird; the utter lack of comprehension of what was going on around her, the way certain things were done." Kvasir frowned. "I don't know what happened, but she learnt very quickly how to survive. The other nymphs have never liked her much; too different I expect – and Spana has never managed to give me an entirely satisfactory answer about what happened to make her change so quickly. Jealousy, very probably – they all wish to be the centre of my attention; it's only natural." Kvasir preened himself absently whilst Loki made a face. "But she picked up the methods of the others; though I've never yet seen her use them except if she's playing tricks on people."

"She plays tricks?" Loki asked innocently, keen to keep his prior knowledge and meeting of Káta a secret, though he could not quash the note of pleased interest from the question.

"Oh, yes." Kvasir replied expansively. "Not a patch on you, of course," he said with a jovial laugh, "but she certainly has imagination. She knows how to go in for the long haul; in fact I've been expecting her to do something to Ullr for a long time now." Loki's expectant silence and expression were question enough. "He's the only god to come down that she hasn't played a trick on; quite the reverse in fact. Sometimes she rescues him from the other nymphs – it's really very amusing to watch; they get quite upset when you know what makes them tick, and Káta's fully aware of how to hook and sink most. I don't know what she does with him afterwards, though; disappears off somewhere." Kvasir gave Loki a suggestive and sidelong glance. Loki frowned, and the Kvasir's eyes were sharp enough to catch the slight flash of anger in the young god's eyes. He turned away, internally smiling, before passing on to other, less dangerous areas of conversation.

* * *

Kvasir's observation did not go unreported. The moment he had farewelled the prince, Kvasir hurried to Frigg's audience chambers in her halls to impart the news. Frigg, although surprised to find that Loki had finally begun to settle his heart upon someone, was pleased that the explanation of his behaviour was such a simple one. Kvasir's identification of the nymph in question was of greater interest to Frigg than the information regarding her reticence with all the gods which followed. She recognised the name of the nymph instantly, knowing who and what she truly was, and wondering whether her vision regarding the girl and the good that she was to do in Asgard had anything to do with Loki. It was a hope that Frigg was very keen to realise.

* * *

Loki's plans to go down to the nymph's hall the next morning were temporarily delayed by the presence of Gná in his rooms when he woke. He had slept peacefully for the first time in many years, lulled into golden dreams by the memory of Káta's smiles and laughter, but at the sight of the handmaiden standing by his doors the ill humour of the previous weeks returned to him abruptly. He scowled fiercely at her. Gná was not frightened of Loki; she generally ignored him, but when ordered into a confrontation with him she regarded him with vague distaste. Usually she would have masked her feelings more competently, but she had been summoned in the pre-dawn hours of the morning by Frigg, and told to go to Loki's rooms and bring him to Fensalir; if he was asleep she was to wait. It had been long and boring, and she had been sorely tempted to abandon her task when, in passing the opened doors of Bilskirnir on her way to Loki, she had glimpsed Thor in his nightshirt, drinking mead before his hearth.

The ill temper and distaste on Gná's face did little to improve Loki's mood. Gná he detested above all of his mother's handmaidens, due to her unending obsession with Thor; the revulsion she felt and showed for him was not special or in any way particularly aggravating for him – it was merely a norm that he dealt with.

"What?" He demanded, glaring at her.

"Your mother desires your presence the moment you are dressed." She replied, a little sulkily. Loki rolled his eyes and waved a hand; such a summons was inevitable given his behaviour of the week's previous – indeed he was surprised it had not come sooner.

"Fine; I'll be there – now _go_." He replied shortly, flicking his fingers in a dismissive gesture towards the door. Gná shook her head stubbornly.

"Your mother was insistent that I accompany you." Loki restrained a growl of impatience, grinding his teeth.

"I wish to dress." He replied icily. Gná frowned.

"Just magic your clothes on, then." She replied; Loki, she knew, was fond of displaying his magic. Loki narrowed his eyes. He could of course, simply have materialised his clothes onto his body in an instant. But he was feeling contrary, and decided he would dress himself by hand, and linger in doing so, simply to take as much time as possible. His mother's summons had interfered with his plans (for before sleeping the previous night he had lain awake atop his bed clothes plotting the best way to go about his interrogation of Ullr), and he didn't know exactly how long they would continue to do so – he wasn't going to come running to her willingly; he wasn't a lapdog, like Thor. Much as he cared for her, at this point in time her summons was an unwelcome interruption in his own master plan, and a distasteful delay from seeing Káta. He was determined to dig his heels in as much as possible; even if it was only to prove a point. He regarded Gná for a moment, then shrugged.

"Fine; stay if you like." He replied. The change in his tone was so sudden that Gná immediately felt her suspicions rising. Carelessly Loki flipped back his sheets and climbed out of bed, turning his back to the handmaiden and snapping his fingers as he did so. His nightclothes vanished, and he continued walking on towards the chests he kept his clothes in, not so much as glancing over his shoulder to catch sight of the red face of the handmaiden. Gná, goddess though she was, had flushed a bright mortified shade of pink at the sudden indecency. Quickly she turned, angrily fumbling for the door handle, and muttered that she would be in the ante-chamber to his halls.

Loki smirked.

* * *

Several hours later – during which Loki had dressed himself, gone out to his dining hall, summoned a platter from the kitchens and eaten leisurely private breakfast, while Gná had stood with growing irritation beyond the doors to his halls, not wanting to go back in to see what was going on for fear that Loki was waiting for her to do so still unclothed – Loki stood before his mother, Gná pink with anger.

Frigg gazed at her younger son shrewdly. It was obvious to all from the colour and expression of Gná's face that Loki had been exercising his mischief upon her – and observation that was only reinforced by a glance to Loki's own face, which was smugly triumphant. Frigg had to restrain a smile of her own at the sight. It was welcome. She didn't mind Loki riling her handmaidens once in a while – that was inevitable, and trying to stop him from doing so was like trying to prevent the tide from coming in, besides which, all the gods and goddesses had their turn at being the focus of Loki's mischievous attentions. At that moment she wouldn't have cared if Gná had come in with her skirts singed (an escapade that Loki had put into practice upon another, less fortunate goddess, which had earned him a severe dressing down); the playful twinkle in Loki's eye was back, and for better or for worse, Frigg was glad that it was so.

With a nod and a wave she dismissed her handmaidens, largely to give poor Gná some little respite, and Loki remained before her, his face at once roguish, expectantly resigned, and oddly impatient.

"You have been particularly quiet of late, my son," Frigg began.

Loki said nothing, though his eyes narrowed slightly. Frigg paused, noticing the suspicions that were starting to rise in her son's expression.

"I hope you will be happy." She said. Loki's frown changed from chary scrutiny to one of confusion. "And I hope too that in time she will return your affections." Loki's brows flew up.

"I'm not in love." He replied blankly. Frigg's brow crinkled slightly, though her eyes were smiling.

"Very well, my son," she replied. "Go, be about your business."

* * *

Loki was still frowning as he made his way down to Mærsalr. The audience with his mother had left him somewhat baffled. It was the work of an instant for him to connect the dots between Kvasir and his mother, but how Kvasir had managed to delude himself into thinking that he, Loki, was in love, was utterly beyond him. Loki knew that there was no way possible that he was in love with Káta – was it not possible for a god to be interested in a nymph – or a female at any rate – simply because she was interesting and could be a friend? Did bodily intent have to worm its way into everything? Loki huffed irritatedly as he marched along, sure that Thor's stupid actions in the library had sown the seed for this idiotic idea that was now circling the minds of his family, and goodness knows how many others.

He did not allow himself to dwell on the matter, however, for there was the more important task of finding Ullr in hand, and Loki was determined to uncover exactly what relationship Káta had with the god.

It did not take him especially long to find the god, for in his impatience Loki had taken to dematerialising and rematerializing every fifty yards or so, and he came across Ullr, dripping wet, as he exited the nymph's pavilion. Hailing the god with a somewhat quizzical expression, Loki led him about a walk of the gardens.

"How well do you know Káta?" Loki, his patience having reached as far as he could stretch it, asked the question point blank, barely prefacing it with sufficient conversation to ensure that Ullr walked with him. He had no concerns about Ullr forming suspicions about his interest in the nymph; in fact, quite the opposite, Loki had faint anxieties about Ullr's capacity to form thoughts. The muscular young god was entirely forthcoming, however, and shrugged.

"Quite well, I suppose," he replied, "she's very nice," he smiled gently and Loki began to see why Káta was yet to spring a trick on Ullr; it was like teasing an ancient and loyal family hound by putting its food out of reach. "She says that she rescues me from the other nymphs and then she asks me questions and we just talk. Of course," Ullr laughed a little awkwardly, "I don't understand what she talks about most of the time – lots of stuff about orchards, and how she doesn't like the nymphs, and other tricky things that make her laugh – but she's very kind." Ullr smiled his sweetly simple smile again, and Loki nodded absently. Ullr lacked the cunning to lie; Loki knew that within moments of meeting him, and before they had parted ways he was internally humming with satisfaction.


	11. Ch 10: A Hunt

_~Chapter Ten~__ A Hunt_

Káta made her way idly down to the ash grove, a book in hand, humming to herself as she ran her free hand over and through the bushes and plants she passed. Runá was occupied with creating a new hairstyle, and so she had resigned herself to a day without enjoying any verbal jousting with Loki, and merely to keeping watchful eye and a sharp ear out over him. She had to admit that Fróði had been right. Whilst there were times when she didn't exactly like the way the prince behaved, she had begun to see much more of his hidden personality. She could tell from the expression in his green eyes that he was distinctly repulsed by the behaviour of the nymphs (a fact which pleased her no end) and was completely unenchanted by their various wiles. Even their tricks didn't seem to find much favour with him, and Káta found it pleasing to note such things, hoping strongly that she was right in her deductions that it shed a little light on the goodness that flickered in and out of sight in his personality.

She was pleased that her efforts in attempting to establish some sort of contact with Loki appeared to be working. Usually she would have simply introduced herself to the person she intended to help, but with Loki she had felt certain that the usual way of doing things was not going to get her very far. He did, however, seem to be warming to her. Often she would look up from what she was doing, or turn her head, and catch him staring at her with a particular fixed look upon his face. He always looked away when he realised that she had seen him, and Káta was willing to swear that there were times when she could just make out a tiny and seemingly irrepressible smile playing about his mouth as he pretended to be engrossed in something else. She liked seeing that smile; it brightened his whole face, and there was something distinctly sweet about it that made her own mouth want to reciprocate the gesture, even as her heart felt like it was whizzing around in dizzying spirals inside her chest.

The ash grove was unoccupied when she reached it, and Káta settled down to read her book. She knew the nymphs and Loki would be coming along soon, and by the time they had arrived she was deeply engrossed in the tale. She frowned slightly as the metallic tinkling laughs of Spana, Lúta, and Róta interrupted her reading, glancing up over the top of the pages to observe the advancing group.

Her brows twitched in faint surprise as she noted the absence of Kvasir, though her eyes soon fixed on Loki as though magnetised to his form. As the group neared, his eyes met hers, and there was a gentle welcoming in them that elicited a small sweet smile from her, their eyes remaining locked. Whatever moment of gentle stillness that they had been sharing was abruptly shattered as Róta danced across Káta's field of vision, snatching the book out of her unsuspecting hands. The other nymphs cosseted Loki, patting the plump cushions laid out on the ground so that he sat amongst them with faintly concealed reluctance.

"Why is it that you always have your nose buried in a book, little Káta?" Róta asked laughingly, dancing away from Káta as she gazed up, frowning, though she remained seated. Spana let out a vicious little laugh, her eyes twinkling maliciously. Káta knew that it was Kvasir's absence that had put them in this mood, and the fact that they were now having to entertain Loki – a god on whom none of them looked with favour.

Spana had quickly realised Loki's distaste for the nymphs, for she was more observant than most and canny, and his veiled attention towards Káta had not gone unnoticed. She knew that there would be no pathway through him to Thor unless she could change his attitude towards herself and her sisters, and that she would need to come up with a plan very soon if they were to stand any chance of scaling the social ranking through the prince. If Loki was not to be moved, however, he would lose any of the potential value he had previously held to her. She was already beginning to feel that he would be a waste of her time, but Spana was tenacious, and she could see just enough possibility in pursuing Loki to make the effort worth her while. She was a particularly ambitious individual, and she was not one to let circumstance stand in her way.

Káta knew that she was also likely to be even less in Spana's favour than usual, for Kvasir had been in a jesting and loquacious mood of late, as had she, and he had quite ignored Spana and her sisters in the past few days.

"Yes, little Káta, our _dear_ apple girl, why do you neglect yourself so much?" Spana added, her cunning mind having concocted a scheme to show off her own wit before Loki in a last attempt to bring him under her influence – she was unaccustomed to her charms being resisted, and resented Káta deeply for taking Kvasir's attentions away from her. She turned to Loki with a conspiring laugh, "She's such a strange little thing," glancing at him to gauge his reaction, and moving towards Káta decisively when she saw that his face had twitched in response, encouraged by the fact that he was paying attention, although she had unknowingly misconstrued his opinion on the matter. Putting out a hand Spana tugged at several locks of Káta's long dark hair, which was not done up, although not quite hard enough for it to hurt. "Your hair has become quite dry and limp – perhaps you are becoming a book!" There was a general round of tittering laughter amongst the nymphs, many of them finding the joke far more amusing that it was, and shielding their mouths behind their hands as they watched the taunting progress. Káta's frown deepened.

Loki watched the proceedings with a slight frown of concern between his brows, his eyes flashing between Káta and the Nipt Þrír, focusing particularly on the still circling Spana. He had been on enough hunts to recognise the toying prowl of a predator, and there was a peculiar charge of blood lust in the air, the pack mentality of the group more evident than usual. It was a distinctly unsettling atmosphere to be in, and it was only Káta's superior, though irked expression that prevented Loki from interfering. He knew her nature well enough now to know that had she been truly upset by the nymphs' comments, she would not stay her tongue against speaking her thoughts. He remained watchful, however, his eyes flickering between Káta and Spana, observing the power play going on between them.

Most of the other nymphs had begun to become somewhat restless, like beasts caged over long, and their attention was quickly moving to focus on what was transpiring between the three sisters and Káta.

"A true nymph's hair would never do such a thing," Spana proclaimed with a flick of her own shining locks. Another ripple of snickering rose from the nymphs, though it was less pronounced than the first had been. Loki smirked inwardly, knowing the cause for their slight reticence. "But then, of course, you are not a true nymph, are you?" Spana said, shooting a small smile of triumphant vindictiveness at Loki, sure that the discovery of Káta's lack of pedigree would displease him, and perhaps allow her and her sisters to worm their way into his affection. Loki, however, did not appear to look in anyway displeased. On the contrary, interest gleamed in his green eyes, and he was watching what was going on attentively. A little thrown by his reaction, but nevertheless gratified that she was holding his attention, Spana turned her thoughts back to the perusal of Káta and just how she was going to peel back her skin of protection.

"What _are_ you, little Káta?" Asked Róta, who had been hovering with a vicious expression of bloodthirsty anticipation behind her elder sister, her fingers twitching with poorly contained eagerness. She, too, began to circle Káta, her hard grey eyes flashing with the thrill of the hunt.

"Yes, tell us all," Spana continued. "We've been _dying_ to know what you are since you arrived; we all know that you are not a nymph in any way." She moved in close to Káta, closing her eyes momentarily as she inhaled deeply. "You do not carry the scent of a nymph; our blood is not in your blood. We _always_ know our own." Spana gazed viciously into Káta's eyes; the steely grey boring into the stern gold. Their faces were nearly touching, and Spana's teeth were slightly bared, her lip curling. It did not seem that either was going to give way, until Spana's upper lip twitched slightly, and she ripped away, returning to circling with a snap of flying silk.

Káta, who had been watching Spana and Róta with faintly narrowed eyes, looked away, her expression unperturbed and supremely untouchable. "Those who unwittingly play with fire are like to get their fingers burned, Spana," she replied in a warningly calm tone, "it would be best for you not to meddle with that which you do not know."

"And what is it about you that we don't know?" Lúta at last spoke, moving out from the shadows of the ashes where she had been watching, her voice low and condescending. "Do enlighten us," she said with a low, mock bow. The rising air of tension that had filled the glade was temporarily alleviated as the nymphs broke into tinkling laughter at the gesture.

Káta merely sat, holding the hard half-lidded gaze of Lúta. She was the most often forgotten and discounted of the Nipt Þrír, but she was by no means to be taken out of the reckoning when dealing with the sisters. She was not as uncontrolled as Róta, who was always raring to go when it came to spiteful teasing, and her quiet observation often allowed her to figure out which weakness was best to target.

"You tell me, Lúta," she replied. Lúta twitched an eyebrow, and began to move in slow circles around Káta, joining her sisters.

"You know what we want to know, little apple girl." Spana said silkily. "We want to know who you are, what you are, what your parentage is. We want to know what the _taint_ in your scent is – you do not smell of the Nine Worlds; you are not of the Nine Worlds, so what _are_ you?"

Loki frowned at Spana's words. He knew there was no way that Káta could be a full-blooded nymph, and ever since his talk with Kvasir he had been having doubts as to whether she was a nymph at all, and instead perhaps a demi-goddess, but to say that she was not born of the Nine Worlds was an impossibility. He watched Káta carefully. Judging by her expression, she had completely forgotten his presence, for her attention was focused only on the three nymphs that now stood before her, a singly pugnacious expression on her face.

"Why do you want to know this so badly, Spana?" Káta asked with false sweetness. "Is it because none of you know your parentage?"

Her words had clearly struck a nerve, Loki could tell, for Spana and her sisters let out angry hissing noises, whilst the rest of the nymph's expressions were transformed from vindictive enjoyment to savage fury. He was confused for a moment, his mind drawing a blank on the existence of male nymphs, and thinking that Fróði would probably remonstrate him for such a lapse of knowledge. The thought tickled his conscience, and he admitted that he probably owed the old god a visit with some explanation, given his behaviour of the past weeks.

Spana drew herself up imperiously. "We do not _need_ to know the line of our fathers to know the purity of our blood line." She stared down at Káta, who gave all the other nymphs a decidedly challenging glance, her brows raised, and Loki could tell that Spana was pointedly avoiding looking at her hybrid fellows. The corner of his mouth curled in faint amusement.

"Well, just as you do not need to know your own heritage, nor do you need to know mine." Káta said calmly. She put out her hand. "Return me my book, Róta." She eyed the youngest of the sisters sternly. "You have no need or interest in it."

Róta returned the stare with a look of malicious anger, her mouth curled in a vindictive little smile. "Maybe you don't _know_ your parentage," she said, her smile widening as Káta's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you're a nobody of such little importance to anyone in or beyond the Nine Worlds that they had no better use for you than to abandon you. A nobody upon whom Freyja took pity." Loki could see that something in the nymph's words had touched a nerve with Káta, and Róta knew it too. She continued on, beginning to pace back and forth before Káta like a restless predator impatiently waiting for the kill, but delighting in taunting its prey with the indecision of when it was going to strike. "Maybe that's why you're always reading these books," Róta flipped open the book she was holding, idly leafing through it, "to try to find out who you are." She grasped several pages and tore them out with a bloodthirsty flourish, relinquishing her grip on them the moment they had parted company with their fellows, and letting them fall to the ground like intricately patterned leaves.

Káta, who had been growing steadily angrier as Róta spoke, leapt up as she tore out the pages with a dismayed cry of outraged horror. It was clear from her expression that she wanted nothing more than to fly at the grinning, self-satisfied nymph before her, but that was not the way females settled disputes, and she was outnumbered in any case.

"Give-me-the book, _Róta_." Káta spoke the words calmly enough, but her fury had begun to grey her tone. "You do not know what you are talking about."

Loki's muscles tensed; the matter had finally gone too far, and he could see that Káta was beginning to lose the calm superiority that had let her control the situation thus far. Róta and her sisters could scent it, just as sharks can taste blood in the water, and he could see they were starting to close in once more.

Spana had been silent up until now, but her glittering grey eyes had been watching the exchange, her mouth at first in a serious line that later began to curve wider and wider into a nasty thin-lipped smile that Loki found disconcerting. The dynamic between the three was incredible to watch in action, although to do so was akin to watching a pack of wolves pick off their target and systematically bring it down. The thing about wolves, though, was that they didn't tear their victim to shreds before moving in for the kill. The Nipt Þrír were different. Clever and vicious enough to indulge themselves in cruel little games, stringing things along until they had satisfied whatever desire of malicious puppeteering had begun the entire situation. Lúta was the most reserved of the three, constantly observing, but with a cruel and mocking tongue. Spana clearly ruled the others, more out spoken than Lúta, but only to the extent required, for she excelled in manipulation, and it was often clear in her sometimes harsh behaviour towards Róta who it was that held the power. Róta was the most uncontrolled of the three; with a seemingly endless bloodlust, and difficult to control, although Spana had no qualms about brutally crushing her in order to reassert her authority.

"Or what?" Róta taunted. She was still grinning, confident in her position as the untouchable aggressor.

"You don't know who you're messing with, Róta," Káta said warningly, and Loki knew that she was referring to Berghildr. The nymphs, however, could not be expected to even know the existence of the terrifying goddess, and it was of no surprise that no new realisation rose to their expressions. "Give me the book."

Róta's expression flickered slightly, a trace of confusion flitting across it before her confidence reasserted itself. With a challenging look, she grasped several more pages, her mouth widening in a vicious grin. Loki frowned slightly at the book.

Róta tugged at the pages. They remained fixed in their bindings.

Her smile faltered slightly, and a tiny frown appeared on her face. Loki allowed himself a small smirk of satisfaction.

Róta looked down at the book and pulled again. Káta, too, had a fleeting expression of confusion cross her face, before she recalled her more immediate concerns, watching Róta struggle and pull at the pages with a stern expression.

All the nymphs were staring at Káta now with a mixture of expressions. Spana's eyes were narrowed, and although angry, a tiny spark of apprehension was glinting in her flinty eyes. Lúta, too, had a similar countenance, while Róta was glaring at Káta with an expression of dumbfounded frustration.

"She's a seiðkona," hissed Spana with an expression of faint fear at the realisation, "Vanir blood." The other nymphs fell back a step, aware of Freyja's connection to seiðr and the Vanir, and also that they had put themselves in a potentially dangerous position that could incur the goddess's wrath on them.

Káta frowned slightly, confused as to how they had come to such a conclusion, but put the matter from her mind; if it made them fear her, then at least she might have some sort of reprieve from their less than enjoyable attentions. She put her hand out for the book wordlessly, and Róta practically thrust it into her hand. Then she gathered up the fallen pages, and marched off.


End file.
